


The Deer Without a Heart

by SuperNerd92



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Linspar, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, M/M, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers, background sylvix, canon divergent but NOT everyone lives, eventually, still a tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 55,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22599403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNerd92/pseuds/SuperNerd92
Summary: Claude von Riegan arrives to the Officer's Academy knowing that he'll have to fend for himself. He always has. But the young, naive prince of Faerghus clearly can't take care of himself. Just look at him. And if Claude's front of friendship wins him a politically powerful, Relic-wielding ally, well... so much the better.Feelings? What feelings?(AU point of divergence: Jeralt's wife and child both live through a successful birth. But while their little family is much happier, Byleth not being bound to Sothis will have ripple effects with significant implications for Fodlan's future.)s/o toTK_DuVeraunfor beta reading and some major plot suggestions.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 159
Kudos: 479





	1. Chapter 1

It figured that even a routine training exercise would go horribly wrong. That was just the kind of year Claude had been having. 

Granted, when he put himself in the Alliance lords’ boots, he understood. A convenient heir arriving at the last moment was horribly disappointing to, say, Count Gloucester, who’d been eager for the downfall of House Riegan, confident that he could assert himself as the new dominant force. It was also quite suspicious. Why had the Duke not produced this grandson previously? 

There were answers to those questions. But revealing his Almyran heritage would only make some of the lords _more_ intractable, and (perhaps, more than he was willing to admit, this was the real reason) require Claude to be open and truthful about himself. 

And so: off to the Officer’s Academy, because that was the proper thing to do, expected of any young heir. As luck would have it, Gloucester’s own son was attending this year, and Claude’s enrollment prevented Lorenz from assuming his “rightful” position as the head of the Golden Deer House. All politics, naturally - a deft maneuver by his cunning old grandfather to set the tone early. 

Claude was no fool. Fodlan was no different from Almyra in some respects. Gloucester had a fancier title than his father’s rival warlords, but both knew a threat when they saw it. And both had their methods for removing threats without staining their own “honor.” 

He kept his eyes open. Tested his food and drink before eating (which had become a depressing, near-reflexive routine). Didn’t turn his back on Lorenz whenever they marched off to practice formations. Didn’t open up, even to the commoners in the House - you never did know what harm it’d do to let something slip.

Ironically, when the first real danger came, it had nothing to do with the Count. Instead, a random (or seemingly random) troop of bandits, who saw the heirs to the three countries all in one place and decided… 

Actually, what _had_ they decided? To kidnap the young lords for ransom? Surely they knew it was a death sentence. The idea of such unskilled assassins felt wrong, too. If this was some enemy trying to kill the three of them, they’d done an unusually stupid job of it.

All this raced through Claude’s head as he, himself, raced away from the ambush. He could figure out the truth later, presuming he wasn’t kidnapped and/or killed. 

Even with all his physical training, he couldn’t run forever. He was flagging by the time he spotted the village, but at least he’d put some distance between himself and the bandits. And as meager as this village was, it was at least the semblance of a defensive position, with wooden walls and a little gate on one side. Enough to funnel the bandits around and buy him some time… he hoped. 

Dimitri and Edelgard, too, had outpaced the bandits. The young prince wore an expression of confusion, while she looked more annoyed than anything. An interesting reaction to an unexpected bandit attack - at best, she didn’t lack confidence in her fighting skills. At worst... Claude filed that thought away for later. 

“What are you _doing_?” Dimitri asked. 

“Three of us, a dozen of them. We needed to change conditions to have a chance.” He was already stringing his bow.

“You just ran away,” Edelgard accused. 

“You wound me, Princess. It was a strategic retreat to a better position.” 

“There are innocent people in this village, and you’ve put them in danger!” Of course, the heart-on-his-sleeve prince _would_ be more worried about that than his own skin.

“We’re clearly the targets,” Claude argued. “They’ll focus on us. Now, if you two would kindly stop complaining long enough to watch my back…” 

His hasty plan half-worked. The bandits had only one approach, and the lack of cover gave Claude the perfect line of sight to fire, wounding or killing a handful of them. But there were still _far_ too many for three alone to handle by the time they’d closed into melee range. 

Dimitri and Edelgard both fought ferociously - the power of those mysterious Crests, no doubt, since they both seemed much stronger than a normal person should be - but the sheer weight of numbers couldn’t be overcome. 

An axe bit into the prince’s arm, his lance clattering to the ground. Four men surrounded the princess, seconds from overwhelming her. And Claude himself was backed into a wall, the bandit leader bearing down on him with a wide grin and axe raised high. 

Before the bandit could swing, a sword flashed out and cut his axe in two, splintering the hilt. Then a tall, masked man stood between him and Claude, sword in hand.

“Jeritza?” 

What was their taciturn fencing instructor doing all the way out here? He hadn’t been part of the training exercise. Claude was certainly happy to not be dead, of course, but that part of him that needed answers wasn’t happy at the coincidence.

Fortunately, Jeritza was a much better fighter than he was a conversationalist. In moments, most of the bandits lay dead, and their disarmed leader turned tail and fled. 

“Well,” Claude drawled, “That was lucky.” 

Edelgard gave him a brief, searching look, but said nothing. She was soon busy helping Dimitri stand and walk, in any event. The prince’s arm wasn’t broken, but he clearly needed to get to Manuela’s infirmary as soon as possible. 

Then the Knights, led by Captain Jeralt, thundered into the village. About a minute too late to do any good, but they certainly knew how to make an entrance. 

Concern all around. Praise for Jeritza and his quick action in saving the three young heirs. Sad news, mournfully delivered - the Black Eagles’ professor, who’d been leading the training exercise, hadn’t run quick enough. Jeralt had found his body back in the woods. 

Back at the monastery, days later, only Claude was suspicious when Jeritza was rewarded with a promotion - the professorship that his predecessor had tragically vacated. And even Claude couldn’t put his finger on _exactly_ why the situation rubbed him the wrong way. 

All he knew was that something felt off, that his instincts were telling him to be careful. And they hadn’t let him down yet. 

Eyes open, back to a wall. He’d make it through this year somehow. He always did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bandit attack at the beginning of the game is sort of silly, isn't it? This is one theory I saw online as to a possible motivation. Not sure it tracks since Jeritza is already in place at the Academy for Edelgard/TWSITD's use, but it works well enough for this AU's needs, so let's roll with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Claude’s first meeting with his grandfather had been telling. The old Duke was physically broken down, confined to a chair, but his eyes were as sharp and intelligent as Claude’s own. After the platitudes about how much he loved Claude’s mother (not enough to so much as write her after she’d scandalized the family by running off with a hated Almyran, but enough to reach out the moment he needed an heir, Claude thought, but didn’t say), the old man had turned at once to the Officer’s Academy. 

Claude wasn’t only attending for a ruler’s education. In addition to putting the Gloucesters in their place, this coming year was an unprecedented opportunity to get to know his fellow rulers (and rivals), Dimitri Blaiddyd and Edelgard von Hresvelg. The Leicester Alliance was the weakest of the three countries, and diplomacy with its neighbors was critical if it was to continue to thrive. 

Much more importantly, Claude wanted to build those relationships for his own ends. Tools were always useful, particularly such powerful tools as the pair of them. 

Edelgard, though, was a complete dead end. Claude spent enough time putting on a front to instantly recognize another’s when he saw it. She was polite enough, but distant, constantly measuring her actions against some unspoken goal that dominated her actions. The best he and his Alliance could hope for was that this goal, whatever it was, didn’t involve them. 

Dimitri, though… 

He chose his approach carefully. The prince was still recovering from their little bandit adventure, so Claude rounded up an offering (sweets recommended by Lystheia, an expert) and made his way to the infirmary. 

Dimitri wasn’t alone, of course. Dedue - technically a classmate, but basically his bodyguard - probably hadn’t left the room at any point. He nodded once at Claude, and settled back against the wall with wary eyes. 

“Thought I’d check in. I have something for you,” Claude announced, tossing the bag onto Dimitri’s bed. 

“Ah… thank you.” The prince clearly wasn’t the biggest fan of sweets, but (just as clearly) didn’t want to offend Claude. His attempt at looking enthusiastic was, frankly, just sad - Claude was pretty sure the ten-year-old children of Alliance lords could fake their emotions better - but Dimitri gamely unwrapped one of the candies and popped it into his mouth. 

Claude snorted. “Are you serious?”

The prince swallowed. “What?”

“Don’t they have poison in the Kingdom? I could’ve put _anything_ in that.” 

“You didn’t,” Dimitri said, waving his good hand dismissively. 

“How do you know? You barely know me.” Was the prince truly this naive? It was hard to credit, and yet… 

“True,” Dimitri admitted, “but I know enough. You wouldn’t hesitate against an enemy, but we aren’t enemies.” 

“Things change quickly. Trust is going to get you killed some day,” Claude predicted. This wasn’t exactly the soft-pedal diplomacy he’d been attempting, but Dimitri… wasn’t exactly what he’d expected, either. 

“Until then, I’ll count you as a friend.” The prince lowered his head in a formal nod. “Thank you for the gift, in any event.”

“Don’t mention it, but keep in mind: whomever I got those from could’ve been trying to poison me, and then where would we be?” _This is going to be even easier than I thought,_ he mused, and changed the subject. “Looking forward to our mock battle? They’ve delayed things until you’re recovered.” 

“It will be exciting to test ourselves against the other houses. If our little adventure taught me anything, it’s to expect the unexpected from the Golden Deer’s tactics.” 

Claude chuckled. “I’ve been over the grounds. Not many places to run and hide.” 

“I thought you said it was a _strategic retreat_.” 

Claude waved his hand. “Same difference. It might not help much against the Blue Lions. Back in the Alliance, we still have plenty of stories about your knights’ fighting prowess. Like men and women possessed, they say.” 

“I’m sure those tales exaggerate.” For whatever reason, Dimitri looked very uncomfortable, which Claude thought was interesting. _Dislike of flattery? Or something deeper? The Church of Seiros doesn’t exactly have hysteria about possession._

Either way, it would be a long year, and there was no use coming on too strong. 

“Well, I’d better get going. Don’t want to be late for Professor Hanneman’s lecture, as dull as they are.” Claude nodded to both of them and left the room, with plenty to think about. 

* * *

Jeritza’s position needed to be filled, and on short notice. Claude was a little surprised that the Academy managed it so quickly, and even more surprised that the new instructor was such a young woman - a couple years his senior at most. He went over to introduce himself at once - and more importantly, to prod. 

“I’m Jeralt’s daughter,” she explained, with a tone of mingled resignation (yes, _the_ Captain Jeralt the Blade Breaker, leader of the famous Knights) and defiance (yes, I do actually deserve this job, thank you very much).

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of you.” Not that Jeralt talked much about his personal life, but Alois, apparently her self-appointed uncle, would often take a break from bragging about his own wife and children to mention just how impressive Byleth was. _She’ll surpass her old man one day_! 

“And I’ve heard of you,” she countered at once, with a ready grin. “We don’t see much of you here.” 

“Swinging wooden swords around isn’t my specialty. I prefer the archery range.” But not today, because there was a new factor, a person suddenly elevated to a position where their secrets were worthwhile. “But, you know, after that attack, I can’t be too careful.” 

“Oh, yes. Terrible, that,” Byleth said distractedly. Then she charged him. 

Alois exaggerated - quite often, actually - but he hadn’t oversold her skill with a blade. Claude, despite his posture of indifference, had learned all that Nader could teach him about the sword, but it simply wasn’t enough. For every blow he landed, she countered with a half-dozen direct hits. 

Eventually, he threw up his hands. “I yield, I yield. Do you have an apprentice? Someone less overwhelmingly good?” 

Byleth laughed, clearly in her element. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re bleeding,” Claude noted. One of his hits had actually scratched along her cheek. He fished out a yellow handkerchief and passed it to her.

Byleth wiped the blood away impatiently and tossed it back. A network of thin scars around her hands told the story of how little she cared about such things. 

Claude folded it up and pretended to look uninterested, his best guise, really, as he put in his pocket. He wasn’t the best at magic in general or Crestology in particular, but he might be able to get something from a sample. “So - big news. Engagement to the scion of the prestigious Arundel family...” 

“Oh, _goddess._ ” She rolled her eyes to heaven along with the casual blasphemy. “I can’t fathom why Archbishop Rhea is so eager to marry me off. Or why a noble family can’t set their sights higher than a Knight’s daughter with no land or title.”

“Repairing their relationship with the Church, no doubt. Symbolic importance and all that,” Claude ventured. He’d already researched Lord Arundel at length, along with all the other leading Kingdom and Empire lords. The man’s son was a total non-entity, but Arundel himself was one of the most important people in Adrestia. 

“Maybe.” Byleth narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you…” 

“Alois,” he said simply. 

She groaned. “Of course. He can’t stop talking about it. But he’ll have to wait - he and Rhea both. I’ve too much I want to do, first.” 

Byleth nodded - a sharp dismissal - and turned her attention to a new arrival. Felix, of course it was Felix. He practically lived here, and now Jeritza had been replaced with a fresh face, and a fresh challenge.

As he left the training grounds, Claude wondered: since when did the Archbishop herself start arranging marriages? 

It was probably Crests. It was always Crests, in Fodlan. Luckily, there was an easy way to verify that assumption right in his pocket. 

Hanneman was one of the easiest marks Claude had ever tangled with. He hadn’t even needed to make the appointment himself: the professor approached him to examine his minor Crest of Riegan. Then, merely the suggestion that he had a question about Crests gave him access to the machine, and the professor’s monocle practically glowed with enthusiasm when Claude produced the blood sample. 

“This machine, it can tell you what Crest they have?” 

“Oh, yes. In this case… ah, a Major Crest of Seiros, powerful, but not uncommon. And…” Hanneman stood, mouth open wide in obvious astonishment. 

“And?” Claude prompted.

“Why, the markers in the blood… I’ve never seen anything like this. This individual is a potential carrier for another Crest. One I’ve never seen before.” 

“What, your machine can tell what type of Crest their child will have?” 

“Not exactly,” Hanneman cautioned, and launched into a long and technical explanation that Claude only half-listened to. (The gist: his predictions were not yet reliable - otherwise, the nobility would simply test their children instead of matchmaking with other Crest-bearing families and hoping for the best).

“Okay, but what you’re saying is, if this person has a child with another Crest-bearer…” 

“It’s possible, _possible_ , mind you, that the combination would create an entirely new Crest.” The obvious thought finally struck Hanneman, and he turned on Claude so fast that his monocle almost fell off. “ _Where did you get this?_ ”

“Sorry, professor. It was given to me in confidence,” Claude lied smoothly. “It’s an internal Alliance matter.” 

“Oh, _damn._ Well, I suppose it can’t be helped… Do keep me in mind if it is ever not quite so internal. I may be a professor now, but I know how things are.” 

“I really appreciate this,” Claude quickly assured him. “I won’t forget it when I’m Duke of the Alliance - that the top Crest researcher in Fodlan is right here.” 

He left Hanneman to his preening and headed for the library, brow furrowed. It could be a coincidence that Rhea was so eager to arrange Byleth’s marriage… but Claude had long ago stopped believing in coincidences.

_A new Crest, huh? What exactly is she trying to do with it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I mentioned up-front, the AU conceit is that Byleth wasn't stillborn and that her mother survived the process... hence no Crest Stone heart. I figure she'd get the Rhea blood infusion treatment, and my wife suggested that it'd be fun for Rhea's next attempt to be directly related to the family line. This story won't use Sothis or Divine Pulse, but that will still give AU-Byleth a role in it.


	3. Chapter 3

Claude’s friendly courtship of the prince continued with a carefully engineered defeat at the mock battle. (In truth, little of his plan had even been necessary, as Lorenz, so eager for personal glory, had charged straight at the Lions and shattered the Deers’ defensive line). The next day, in the dining hall, he swooped down across from Dimitri. 

“Just wanted to offer my congratulations. That was an impressive showing yesterday.” 

Dimitri looked up from his plate and smiled. “Oh, thank you. Professor Manuela’s strategy was… unconventional, but effective.” 

“She was certainly unpredictable,” Claude agreed. “Hanneman’s a terrible tactician. Does everything by the book, of course. Can’t react to changing conditions.” 

“I see the issue. ‘By the book’ doesn’t begin to describe you.” 

“Stop it, you’ll make me blush.” If Claude thought flirting was the right approach, he would have jumped off from here. But everything he’d read about Faerghus painted the picture of a society obsessed with procreation, passing on their vital Crests to the next generation. It wouldn’t be surprising if that attitude came with various hang-ups inherited by their prince. 

“Have some more salt,” he said, instead, passing Dimitri the shaker. “What’d you think of Jeritza’s command?” 

“Well, he’s a fierce opponent in personal combat,” the prince said tactfully. 

“‘If you don’t have something nice to say,’ huh? He’s skilled enough, but not a tactical mind. Did you notice Edelgard issuing all the orders herself?” _If she_ did _have something to do with the attack, did_ _she_ _just want a professor she could control? No, that can’t be it. That wouldn’t matter enough to risk all that trouble._

“ _She’s_ a fierce opponent. And a very good commander. I wouldn’t want to face her in a real battle,” Dimitri agreed. 

“She’ll be out for blood when we have the real thing in a few months. And I won’t roll over and let you win, either. I’ll be spending all that time beating some sense into Lorenz.” He flashed a grin. “Literally.” 

“I look forward to it.” The prince was eating mechanically, one bite after the other, evidently taking no pleasure in it. 

Claude learned forward, a gleam in his eye. “So - how long have you been unable to taste food?” 

Dimitri dropped his fork. He quickly picked it up again, but the reaction made his attempt at a neutral expression all the sillier. “I’m sorry?” 

“One doesn’t _generally_ pour salt all over a sweet casserole. You should have been cursing me one bite after my little suggestion, but you just kept eating. I was suspicious in the infirmary, but now I _know_.” 

“Ah, you tricked me. I should have anticipated something like that.” The prince sighed down at his over-salted food. 

“To the victor go the spoils. Come on, answer the question.” 

“I wasn’t born with it. I can still remember how my favorite childhood dishes taste, but since… that day… I’ve not been able to.” 

_Ah, shit._ The Tragedy of Duscur, of course. It loomed over everything Claude read about the Kingdom. Rulers were assassinated all the time, but King Lambert’s death had been odd, with seemingly nobody standing to gain from it. And the Kingdom’s response… According to the accounts, Dedue was one of the only survivors. Which made his service to Dimitri - as fanatic as it was seemingly voluntary - all the more interesting.

Claude had certainly wanted to untangle that web, but not so quickly. Not like this. 

“Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry for bringing up… unpleasant memories. I didn’t know.” 

“No need to apologize. You were simply curious.” Dimitri pushed his plate aside. Despite his polite words, he’d clearly lost what little appetite he had. 

Well, time for a gamble. “Do you know why I’m the heir to the Alliance?” Claude asked. 

“I know the Duke is your grandfather.” 

“And I’m next in line because of the death of his son. A monster attacked him while he was traveling.”

“That’s terrible,” Dimitri murmured. 

“‘A terrible accident,’ that’s what everyone says. But how often does something like that just _happen_?” Claude glanced around for effect, then lowered his voice. The dining hall was mostly empty, but acting cautious would put the prince in the right frame of mind. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that your father and my uncle were both…” 

He trailed off into a significant silence. In point of fact, Claude knew the world was a dangerous place, where terrible things happened all the time. And he’d never even known the uncle. But giving the impression of shared pain and loss might be just what he needed to worm his way into the prince’s confidence. 

“What are you saying, Claude?” 

“I’m saying, that bandit attack doesn’t sit right with me. We don’t have enough information, and I don’t like that.”

The prince looked at him, clearly doubting whether or not he should reveal something. Claude knew enough about him, now, to know that prodding wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he just waited. 

Eventually, Dimitri nodded. “Very well. There’s no reason we can’t help each other.” 

_Except you’re still holding out on me. No matter… I’ll figure it out._ “Great. I certainly won’t mind watching your back.” 

Claude winked, rose, and left the prince, still flushed and casting about for a reply. Hang-ups or not, he hadn’t seemed _displeased_. Claude could work with that. 

* * *

The next morning, Claude arrived at the Deers’ classroom early, only to find his usual seat occupied by the slumped, sleeping form of Linhardt. He blinked and rubbed the sleep from his own eyes, but there was no mistaking it. Definitely Linhardt. Definitely his seat. 

A small and very noisy form blurred past Claude, and suddenly Caspar was shaking his friend awake. “Hey - get up!” 

“Hmm? Oh…” Linhardt yawned, stretched, and eventually turned his lazy gaze to Claude. “Sorry,” he said, with a complete lack of remorse. “This seat is _very_ comfortable.” 

“I told you it was his!” 

“Well, nobody was using it at the time.” 

“Slow down a minute,” Claude protested. “What are you even doing here in the first place?” 

“I’m joining your class,” Linhardt announced. 

“Me too!” Caspar shouted. 

Claude blinked at the pair of them in turn. Sure, he’d been extending feelers towards Linhardt, ever since Hanneman had raved about the boy’s curiosity and research skills. Someone like that would be very useful to him, if _properly_ directed. 

(Namely, the opposite of what Hanneman had done, attempting to push Linhardt into Crest research. A person as stubborn as Linhardt would need to think a project was his own idea, or his passion would dry up into obstinate refusal). 

Claude was very good at what he did, and he was confident he would’ve won Linhardt over eventually. He just didn’t expect it to happen this soon. 

“Ah, well, I’m sure Professor Hanneman will be delighted. But what--” 

“Jeritza,” Linhardt complained. “He won’t let me sleep. And then threatened to put me in detention if I missed another class. Insufferable.” 

“Right…” Hanneman got so wrapped up in his own lectures that he wouldn’t notice if the entire class walked out, and his droning certainly lulled one to sleep all on its own. _Now_ the transfer made sense. 

“And I wasn’t gonna let Lin have all the fun,” Caspar announced.

“He means, he still needs me to do his homework.” 

“Whatever, that stuff’s boring! And a waste of time compared to training!” 

An argument commenced, along the well-worn lines that could only indicate extremely close friendship. Claude sighed. Caspar had hardly been part of his designs, but it looked like the pair of them were a package deal. 

Well, he’d make it work. Those little complications were what made life interesting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once Claude decides to start paying attention to you, your secrets won't last very long. Particularly if you're as bad a liar as Dimitri is lol


	4. Chapter 4

The Archbishop didn’t wait long before putting the students’ theoretical military training to practical effect. Just a few months into the term, and here they were, being offered up to supplement the disorganized and kingless Faerghus military. 

While most of the Knights, and the Blue Lions class, marched off to the west to confront some local lord’s revolt, Claude and the Deer were handed a much more interesting task. Sylvain’s older brother had made off with the family Relic weapon, and his father, too busy with an incursion from Sreng, had appealed to the Church for help. 

_Relics…_ Claude knew the Riegans possessed one of these powerful weapons, and it would one day be his, but the Duke hadn’t let him anywhere near it. But this was his chance to study one of them up close. Perhaps even get a chance to handle it and feel its power - before dutifully returning it to the Church and the Gautier family, of course… 

Claude wasn’t shocked when Sylvain turned up on the day they were set to depart. It was his family and therefore his obligation. He _was_ a little surprised that Sylvain wasn’t alone, but accompanied by Felix, who looked as grumpy as ever. 

“I thought you’d go with Dimitri.” 

It was the wrong thing to say (though the wrong thing to say was often _more_ illuminating than the right thing - and this seemed to be one of those times). Felix sneered at him and spat, “The boar doesn’t need my help.” 

Claude arched his eyebrows. “Boar? What do you mean?” 

“Don’t let his princely facade fool you. He’s an animal, pretending to be a person. The last time we marched against a rebel militia, he--” 

“Felix,” Sylvain interrupted, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He met Claude’s gaze with a slight frown and shake of his head. Interesting - it seemed Sylvain wasn’t as foolish as he acted, and perceptive enough to see through a fellow manipulator. 

Claude inclined his head, recognizing a point scored. A temporary setback - Felix would clearly be all too eager to resume his tirade another time.

“What can you tell me about your brother? I’d rather not march in blind if we can help it.” 

Sylvain shrugged. “Miklan? He was born without a Crest, and as soon as I came along… Well, he knew he’d been replaced. Once I came of age - despite his best efforts - he was disowned. All we heard was that he’d fallen in with some group of bandits, but my father never expected he’d do something this… overt.” 

“Mere thieves shouldn’t trouble us. But your family Relic… the Lance of Ruin… They say it enables a single man to defeat a whole army from Sreng.” 

“ _W_ _ith_ our Crest, yes. Miklan? He’ll surrender if he knows what’s good for him.” Sylvain spoke lightly, but the smirk didn’t begin to feel sincere. “Sorry to trouble you with our family squabbles. I’ll knock some sense into him… Just watch my back.” 

“It’s a deal,” Claude agreed. 

* * *

The bandits, indeed, were not too much trouble. In fact, Claude could spare enough attention to observe the newcomers in combat - observations that wouldn’t hurt during the mock battle.

Felix was brutally efficient with a sword, cutting men down with perfectly timed thrusts and slashes. Sylvain seemed to instinctually keep pace with his friend, shield lifted to catch any wayward blows. Felix’s snarls that he could take care of himself only earned him a retaliatory smirk. 

The Deer fought well, the months of training paying off with natural coordination and understanding of where each of them should go. They could even compensate for Caspar’s wild abandon and insistence on charging headfirst into the fray. Arrows and magic both flew on either side of him, making sure he wouldn’t be surrounded and overwhelmed. 

In a very short time, they reached the raised plateau where Miklan Gautier waited for them. Claude only had eyes for the Lance, which was like no weapon he’d ever seen. Small tines ran down from the head of the spear, and even as he watched, they _moved_ , like an insect’s legs twitching in union. 

_Fascinating_ … 

“Everyone, get back,” Sylvain commanded, voice surprisingly hard. 

“You idiot,” Felix snarled. “Don’t tell me you believe in ‘honorable’ duels, now.” 

“He’s my responsibility.” And before Felix could object, Sylvain stalked towards his brother. “Give me the Lance, Miklan. I don’t want to humiliate you, but I will.” 

“No! It should have been mine. If you hadn’t come along…” 

“You _still_ couldn’t have used it. Stop fooling yourself!” 

“You took _everything_ from me!” Miklan shouted. Even from this distance, Claude could see the madness in his eyes. “I’ll kill you…”

Claude felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to look at Marianne. “Um… aren’t we going to help him?” 

“He hasn’t left us much choice. Hard to take a shot without accidentally hitting him.” 

Which had been Sylvain’s plan all along, no doubt. He only trusted himself to take his brother alive. Hopefully, his confidence didn’t get him killed… 

Felix certainly seemed more worried about the possibility than he’d ever let on, holding the hilt of his sword so tight that his knuckles turned white. 

At first, their concerns seemed unfounded. Miklan’s heavy armor limited his mobility, and his thrusts with the heavy Lance were so slow that Sylvain didn’t have any trouble getting out of the way. He ducked under his brother’s guard and drove his own lance into a gap in the armor, forcing Miklan to one knee as his leg buckled under the blow. 

Then the Lance started to glow, and everything went to hell. 

* * *

Without Felix, Sylvain would’ve died there, crushed under the hulking beast the Lance transformed his brother into. Felix had been the only one who reacted quickly enough to drag his friend out of the way. The rest of them had been too shocked to move - they’d never seen anything like this. 

It’d taken all twelve of them to bring the monster down, a battle more about endurance than anything else. The thing was huge and lumbering, and would crush any one of them if one of its massive legs landed on them, but they all worked together to stop that from happening. When the last arrow pierced its throat and finally killed the beast, the sludgy blackness oozed away, and all that had remained was Miklan’s corpse, still clutching the Lance of Ruin in his hand.

Even Claude hadn’t been too inclined to pick it up after watching _that._ Sylvain had eventually steeled himself and grabbed the thing. With his compatible Crest, there was no risk of _him_ transforming into a beast.

Probably.

Really, they knew so little about Crests - just what the Church had told them. But neither the Church, nor Rhea, had mentioned anything about _this_. Indeed, upon their return, she’d warned them all sternly to keep quiet about it. 

The Relics weren’t just the weapons of heroes. There was at least the potential for a horrific downside. It didn’t track with the tale that the Crests and Relics were both gifts from a benevolent goddess… and Rhea's justification, that it was divine punishment for misusing one, didn't track with Claude, either. The Fodlan goddess hadn't been seen for a millennia. She wouldn't bother with little things like this... if she existed at all. 

Full of questions, Claude holed up in the library. But the selection of books the Church curated didn’t cast any more light on the issue. They were clearly holding back, which just made him more eager to dig up the truth. 

While he was in the middle of placing his armful of books back on the shelves, Dimitri came up to him. 

“There you are. I wanted to thank you for keeping Sylvain and Felix safe on your mission.” 

“Well, you’re welcome, but to be honest, they did most of that themselves. They’re quite capable,” Claude admitted, shoving another book into place. “So, did you figure out why the lord revolted?” 

“Oh… Lonato’s son was implicated in the Tragedy and executed by the Church. He never really recovered.” Dimitri shook his head. “That’s the other reason I’m here. _Both_ our missions were internal Kingdom matters, that we should have been able to deal with ourselves. Instead, we needed the Church, and you, to do it for us.” 

“After what happened… it’s perfectly natural that the nobility and army are still recovering.” 

“Perhaps, but my uncle Rufus has been regent for four years. If he was more focused on his job instead of chasing women...” The prince sighed. “Well, no matter. It will be my responsibility soon enough.” 

“How’s Ashe doing?” Claude asked. This unsolicited and unwise revelation of the Kingdom’s internal weakness was quite the coup, but he didn’t want to draw attention to his curiosity. Better to shift the conversation to safer grounds. 

Dimitri sighed again. “Ashe often said he couldn’t have asked for a better father… and now he’s dead. It’s horrible enough on its own, but it also felt so… pointless. Why did Lonato only act now, four years after the fact? And what did he possibly hope to accomplish on his own?” 

“I understand. Having answers, closure, might make things a little easier.” Claude put the last book back on the shelf and clapped his hands together. “Well, come on.” 

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not going to let the poor kid dwell on it. I’ll sic the Deer on him. They’ll make sure he’s not alone tonight, and they won’t stop until they can cheer him up a little. Trust me - in matters of friendship, they’re relentless.” 

Dimitri managed a small smile. “I believe you.” 

“Yeah, so _you_ better stop with that frowning and sighing routine, or you’re next, pal.” 

“Your threat of friendship is acknowledged. And appreciated.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am messing with the timeline since this is an AU anyway. We can just say that without Byleth and Jeralt showing up unexpectedly, TWSITD's plans come off a little more gradually, or something, lol.


	5. Chapter 5

The week of the true mock battle - the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, with the Deer graciously allowed to participate despite the blow to historical accuracy - Claude was again greeted in the classroom with a surprising sight. Not Lorenz and his shit-eating grin (indeed, that was basically Lorenz’s default expression), but the boy standing _next_ to Lorenz. 

“Hello! I am Ferdinand von Aegir!” 

“Ah… right,” Claude said, which wasn’t up to his usual standards of eloquence, but to be fair, all of this was unexpected. “Of the Black Eagles.” 

“ _Formerly_ ,” Lorenz said, and he began to literally preen himself. “I’ve extended Ferdinand an invitation to join our class.” 

“Which I graciously accepted, of course! It’s an honor to be here,” the other noble announced. 

“Lorenz…” Claude gave the taller boy a searching look. 

“Why, I simply thought I’d do my part for the future of the Alliance,” Lorenz said, placing a hand over his heart with exaggerated patriotism. “I was inspired by your example. Convincing the sons of two powerful ministers to become our classmates…” 

Claude resisted rolling his eyes. He’d made it clear that Caspar and Linhardt had just _showed up_ , that it hadn’t been a power play, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Lorenz had clearly seen it as a competition - and was determined to ‘win.’ 

“And, well, I thought to myself, surely the son of the Prime Minister is an equally valuable individual to befriend-”

Ferdinand interrupted to announce, “I concur! I must say, Lorenz is the very picture of nobility. I welcome this opportunity to deepen the bonds between the Alliance and the Empire!”

 _Gods_ , Claude swore internally, as von Aegir continued through some speech that he’d clearly been rehearsing for the occasion. The only thing more annoying than Lorenz, it seemed, was Lorenz _and_ his new friend. 

“... And of course, I will lend you my skills in the mock battle! With my prowess, we will certainly defeat Edelgard!” 

_Well, I can always use an extremely loud distraction, if nothing else._ “Uh, sure. Welcome to the Golden Deer.” 

Lorenz wasn’t as empty-headed as he looked, Claude reflected later, whilst studiously ignoring Hanneman’s lecture. Arrogant, self-important, vain, foppish, a few other choice adjectives, sure, but not stupid. His ambition matched his father’s.

The question was, could his talents be directed to the support of Duke Claude von Riegan? Or would he always hate and resent the outsider who’d stolen what he perceived as his rightful position as head of the Alliance? 

A question that might very well decide the future of Leicester itself, given Count Gloucester’s increasingly obvious overtures to the Empire. In the end, befriending his son might be the only way to prevent a disaster… 

* * *

The mock battle drew distinguished guests from all corners of Fodlan, it seemed. The noble students’ families were seemingly all in attendance -- Claude being one of the few exceptions, since his grandfather was hardly up for the journey. 

Another, of course, was Dimitri. His uncle, the regent, was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of them, well… surely, this gathering only served as a reminder of what had happened. Claude wasn’t surprised to find the prince in a poor temper when he walked up to in the reception hall, but he was certainly interested in the target of Dimitri’s chilly reserve: _the_ Lord Arundel. 

“... good to see you again,” Arudnel was saying, with a smile that didn’t _begin_ to reach his eyes. 

“Uncle,” Dimitri said, though he nodded as if to a total stranger. 

“I do look forward to seeing your class’s performance against that of my niece. Edelgard doesn’t like to lose.” He paused and studied Claude. “Oh, you must be…” 

“Claude von Riegan, the heir nobody expected,” Claude confirmed with a grin. 

“Indeed," Arundel said, his gaze cold and measuring. “Well. I’m sure you are quite busy with your own preparations. I will take my leave.” 

“‘Uncle?’” Claude asked, once the Imperial lord was out of earshot. 

“No blood relation. My father married Arundel's sister after my own mother passed,” Dimitri explained. He didn’t look at Claude, still staring at Arundel’s back. “The last time I saw him, he came to take Edelgard away…” 

“Hold on,” Claude said, abandoning any pretense at lack of curiosity. “That means, Edelgard is your-” 

“Step-sister, yes. Though, we didn’t even know it when we first met one another. Lord Arundel took her to the Kingdom for her own safety, during the Insurrection.” Dimitri sighed, speaking in a musing tone, as though Claude wasn’t right there (and hanging on every word). “When I first met him, he seemed a kind man, concerned for her safety. True devotion, beyond the obligations of a retainer to the royal heir. But the second time... “ 

He didn’t finish that thought, but it was clearly in his mind when he ground out, “I wish Miss Eisner would not marry into that family.” 

“What, are you jealous?” 

“Claude, please,” Dimitri said. Impatient and testy, not embarrassed - well, that was good to file away for later. Most of the male students seemed to be nursing some sort of crush for their fencing instructor. 

“Kidding, kidding. I get it, you don’t trust him.” 

“Guess that makes three of us,” someone said from behind them. Claude and Dimitri both jumped and whirled to face… Byleth, regarding them with a smirk. 

“You boys shouldn’t gossip so loudly. Think of the scandal.” 

“ _You_ should consider a career as an assassin. Nobody’s ever snuck up on me,” Claude retorted. “Why, some of my enemies would pay handsomely for a knife in my back. I can put you in touch with-” 

“Claude, you shouldn’t joke about that,” Dimitri said tightly. He offered Byleth a stiff nod. “I apologize. I meant no offense.” 

“Oh, lighten up,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “Like I said, I don’t trust him, either. He stopped donating to the Church years ago, enormous scandal, blah blah blah… well, he and Rhea might want to patch it up, but I don’t appreciate being used for political-” 

“Wait. How many years ago?” Dimitri had a look on his face Claude hadn’t ever seen there before. It wasn’t simply curiosity, no, it was… something much uglier. 

Byleth shrugged. “I don’t know. There are records in the library, if you really want to-” 

With that, Dimitri was gone, without anything close to his usual, formal request to depart. She and Claude blinked at one another. 

“What’s gotten into him?” 

“No idea,” Claude lied automatically, frowning at Dimitri’s back. In fact, he could follow the logic easily enough… but if Dimitri was right, and the most powerful man in the Empire had something to do with the assassination of King Lambert, that couldn’t mean anything good for Fodlan.

And the Alliance would get caught right in the middle. 

* * *

At the mock battle, at least, the Alliance _didn’t_ get caught in the middle. In fact, Claude won the day, by the skin of his teeth.

The plan relied on Lorenz, which was enough to give the whole class serious doubts as to its wisdom, but it was a risk worth taking. Lorenz’s impulse to ignore Claude’s orders had cost the Deer the first contest. And when he and Ferdinand charged straight towards the Eagles’ lines with little support, history seemed to be repeating itself. 

In reality, they were the sacrificial pawns, a feint to draw the Lions into engaging the Eagles first. Claude and the rest of the class waited for the chaos to reach its peak, then seized the central hill and attacked both ‘armies’ from behind. 

When the instructors issued the final grades, the Deer’s maneuver earned them enough points for a victory. Dimitri and his class scored the most ‘kills’ with their wooden weapons, but his headlong charge had cost them the top prize. 

“You outwitted me,” the prince admitted, when the field had been cleared and preparations for the trip back to Garreg Mach were underway. 

“I just played on your expectations of Lorenz being a vainglorious idiot. I mean, he _is_ , but this time it was part of the plan.” 

“You make it sound simple, but it was expertly done.” Dimitri winced as he picked a splinter out of one of his hands. The wooden weapons and his Crest-enhanced, unpredictable strength were a poor mix. 

“You did well in the actual hand-to-hand combat,” Claude noted. 

“Were it a real battle, I’d be dead, and my whole army with me.” 

“Well… yeah, but I was looking on the bright side.” 

Dimitri shook his head. “I need to do better. I _knew_ this was only a practice battle, but when the fighting started, I still… lost my head.” 

There was a revelation just below the surface of his words. Felix’s words rang in Claude’s memory. Not a man, but a boar… whatever that meant… 

“There’s a story we tell back in the Alliance,” Claude said carefully. He wanted confirmation, but he didn’t want to upset the prince. “Almyra attacks us all the time. Some of their warriors are said to strike a compact with spirits. In battle, they let these entities of rage just… take control. In that state, they don’t know fear, and they never retreat.”

“An interesting practice. I’m afraid I have no spirit to blame for my actions today,” Dimitri said. He wasn’t offended, but Claude hadn’t picked the right key to unlock the full truth, either. _Damn._

“Yeah, I was just… giving an example. Berserkers and commanders aren’t compatible,” Claude said, then chuckled. “Wow, listen to me, lecturing you like a professor. Sorry, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“No offense taken. It’s good advice. Yet, when I see my enemies in front of me… it’s hard to hold back.” Dimitri sighed. “My father always told me, a king should lead from the front.”

“He sounded brave.” _And sort of stupid_. 

“He set an example that is… difficult to live up to. Will I be a good enough king? Can I find and punish those responsible for Duscur… and let him rest in peace?” 

Dimitri’s tone of voice, the desperation in the words, made Claude’s skin crawl. It was almost like a prayer… or a plea. 

No, the prince wasn’t a berserker. But he might be something even _worse_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been playing the DLC, so fewer chapters this week. On the plus side, some of the things in it will be very useful for this AU!


	6. Chapter 6

It seemed not a month could go by without a new student transferring into the Golden Deer, but even Claude was surprised when Sylvain approached him in the dining hall with his request to join the class. 

“Really? Gotta say, between our two professors, Manuela seems more… up your alley.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, well, you know how it is. Ask your professor on _one_ date and suddenly everything’s awkward,” Sylvain said airily. He had Claude’s gift for voicing a lot of words that said absolutely nothing or meant the opposite of what you might think.

“Right…” Claude studied the other boy, constructing a visibly skeptical look. Sylvain was the heir of one of the oldest and most traditional houses in the Kingdom. He’d apparently waited two extra years to attend the Officer’s Academy so that he’d be in the same class as his childhood friends - and future king. Now he was leaving all that behind? Not that Sylvain didn’t have more issues than chest hairs, but it seemed an odd time for it.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with you vanishing for a week and coming back with the Lance of Ruin, would it?” 

“Oh, that? My old man just didn’t want it to get stolen again. Nowhere safer than Garreg Mach, what with the Knights and all...” 

His mask of uncaring was excellent, but Claude had worn too many masks in his own time to be taken in. Sylvain _seemed_ remarkably well-adjusted for someone who had killed their own brother a couple of moons previously, but there was something darker lurking underneath. Resentment of the role his Crest and family had forced him into. This was clearly a dramatic show of rebellion to scandalize his father, immediately after he’d been entrusted with the priceless family Relic. 

The Margrave wouldn’t be pleased - a potential political headache for the future Duke. On the other hand… it could work to Claude’s advantage. Three students from the Empire had transferred in already, and this would help assuage concerns from the northern lords who already feared Adrestian influence on Count Gloucester.

“Well, okay. On one condition.” He held up a single finger and let his real emotions show. It wasn’t any easier for how much the Golden Deer had been bringing it out. He narrowed his eyes and curled his lips just short of a snarl. “You’d better leave Marianne alone.” 

Sylvain clapped a hand to his heart, easy grin sliding back into place. “I wouldn’t think of it. Who do you take me for?” 

Claude eyed him, but let it pass. He could trust Hilda to keep control of that situation. Plus, she was almost as flirtatious and manipulative as Sylvain - if nothing else, they’d keep each other entertained. 

* * *

When Claude heard a rumor that Dimitri had formally petitioned the Church to let him and Dedue take a full complement of Knights away on some urgent mission, he was intrigued, to say the least. Sylvain had just come back from one of these little jaunts with his Relic weapon. Was Dimitri going to retrieve his? 

If so, Claude simply had to come along and see it. There was no alternative until he could get his hands on Failnaught. He’d heard Catherine telling Linhardt that using Relics that weren’t in tune with your Crest was still dangerous, but he wasn’t planning to _use_ it. 

He didn’t bother with the minor detail of informing Dimitri until the company was well on its way. Claude planned his entrance, swaggering up to the front of the line and nodding at prince and retainer in turn, his hands behind his head as if he were on a casual stroll.

“So, where are we going?” 

Dimitri pursed his lips. “Claude… what are you doing here?” 

“Supporting my friend, of course,” Claude laughed, and winked for good measure. “I heard about your request to Rhea.” 

“You spend a lot of time checking up on me.” 

“You’re just so interesting… I can’t help myself.” 

Dimitri had nothing but a blush and stammer for that. Dedue, who’d been regarding Claude in silence, seemed to come to a decision, and spoke: “You may turn back when you hear about our purpose. I will not blame you.” 

“I _have_ been meaning to ask, what exactly are we doing?” 

“We are going to Duscur.” 

_Okay, didn’t expect that._ Claude had heard there wasn’t much left of the place, and in Dedue’s shoes, he’d hardly want to go back. “Why?” 

“After… what happened, Duscur is administered by a Kingdom lord,” Dimitri explained. “He informed me that he is being attacked by a band of Duscur survivors. They, ah, wish to seize their homeland again by force.” 

“Hard to blame ‘em,” Claude observed, studying Dimitri’s face carefully. Duscur was a puzzle that he couldn’t figure out. Dimitri didn’t seem to harbor any grudge against the people who’d cost him everything. Why was that?

“Of course, but they’re hopelessly outnumbered. Once my uncle sends reinforcements, the rebels will be slaughtered. I would… prefer to avoid that.” 

Well, sometimes it didn’t hurt to be direct. “Forgive me, but why is that? I thought they were responsible for your father’s death.” 

Dimitri was silent for a long time. He exchanged a look with Dedue, and some signal passed between them before the prince spoke again. “The people of Duscur had nothing to do with it.” 

“Huh?” _That_ was a genuine shock, and Claude didn’t bother to hide his confusion. Well, not all of it.

“We were _in_ Duscur when we were attacked, but that is all. The assassins wore masks, gloves, hiding their appearance. Were they truly Duscur warriors, they would not have been compelled to do so.” 

“But the Kingdom…” 

“Blamed Duscur. Invaded. Nearly wiped out an entire people… for a crime they didn’t commit.” Dimitri drew a shuddering breath. “I tried to stop them… but the army just wanted revenge. Nobody believed my story.” He cleared his throat. “Some few individuals from Duscur were bribed or coerced into symbolic forays against the Kingdom to solidify the story, but I know those were fringe elements, at most.”

 _They needed a scapegoat, and a hated_ other _was most convenient._

“His Highness did save my life. I was to be executed, but he intervened,” Dedue said. Claude nodded - he’d expected something like that. 

“I was only able to save a handful - far fewer than I would have liked.” Dimitri shook his head. “Truly, the people of Duscur have every right to hate the Kingdom. But to rebel openly like this… all that will happen is more death.” 

Claude nodded again. “So what’s the plan?” 

“You’ll help us?” Dedue sounded shocked, as if it was a big surprise for the people of Duscur to warrant basic human consideration. Hell, from all the snide comments around the monastery, this might be the first time someone who wasn’t Dimitri - or a personal friend of Dimitri - had done anything of the sort.

It made Claude’s blood boil, but all he said was, “Of course.” 

“It will take some time for the Kingdom army to arrive. My plan was for us to get there first and defeat the rebels. We’ll kill as few as we can and convince them to escape with their lives.”

Claude lifted an eyebrow. “That… that’s your entire plan? You’re the prince of the Kingdom; can’t you just order the army to stand down?” 

Dimitri sighed. “Until I claim the crown and become king, the regent has all formal power.” 

“Still, informally…”

“You’re not wrong. In most circumstances, if I give an order, the army will listen. But with Duscur… Well. I chose Dedue as my vassal because he is the best person for the job, but many see it as a sign of weakness. That I am soft, or stupid, to consort with the enemy. That I’m not capable of meting out the punishment that Duscur deserves for its so-called crimes.” 

“Ah… you don’t think they’ll listen.” Claude clapped his hands together. “Fine, we can go with your plan, but I have some additions.” 

Dimitri frowned. “What additions?” 

“You need that army delayed, don’t you? Just leave it to me.” 

“Claude, those soldiers are still my people.”

“They’ll be fine!” He added under his breath, “In a few days.”

* * *

Dimitri didn’t ask _how_ Claude intended to make his diversion, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Claude had little sympathy for men who were on the march to slaughter people who only wanted their home back, but restrained himself for the prince’s sake. Non-lethal poison for the commander instead of the real stuff, and he only imitated the sounds of a wyvern nest instead of whistling up the real things. 

By the time the confused and leaderless army arrived, the rebels had been dealt with. And the fact that the vast majority were still alive, well, nobody needed to know that. 

“I’ve been meaning to say,” Dimitri said on the ride back to Garreg Mach. “Thank you for taking care of Sylvain for me.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah? I didn’t think you’d be upset, but I wasn’t expecting to be thanked for having him join the Golden Deer.”

“Sylvain has… Difficulties with his family. I believe a change of surroundings is good for him.”

“Well… You’re welcome,” Claude said. Dimitri was quite a puzzle. Cripplingly naive in many ways, but observant when it counted. “I’m curious. What’s your plan when you _do_ become king?” 

“For Duscur?” Dimitri was ready for the question. “I will create a Kingdom where the people of Duscur are treated the same as anyone else.” 

“Okay, but… how, exactly?” 

“I’ll give them the same opportunities for positions at court, or in the army, or to attend the royal schools. In time, I hope that the discrimination against them will cease.” 

“You’re so naive,” Claude said, unable to stop the edge in his voice. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You think that just because you don’t treat Dedue any differently, the rest of the whole damn Kingdom will eventually learn to follow your example? That’s not what discrimination is! An individual from Duscur might get to advance, and hey, maybe people will start to like him a little. As an individual. The people as a whole, they’ll still be something different. Alien. To be feared and hated.” 

He’d revealed too much, losing his temper like that. This was the part where Dimitri glared at him, noticed Claude’s own skin was a different color and that he was speaking from personal experience. Told him _he_ was an outsider. That he had no right to anything in Fodlan. 

Instead, Dimitri just asked, “What would you recommend?” No accusation, not the slightest edge in his voice. If he wasn’t so cynical, he would have read Dimitri’s expression as interested.

“Ah, well…” Claude recovered quickly enough. “If you want to foster understanding between their people and yours, you need to welcome Duscur - its culture and beliefs - not _just_ the individuals. Give them back their homeland. And sure, Duscur stays in the Kingdom, officially, but the knights’ lances point _outwards_ , not inwards. Protection, while they pick themselves back up, govern themselves, decide the new boundaries for themselves.” 

“I never thought about it like that… but I do believe you’re right.” Dimitri inclined his head. “Thank you for your perspective, Claude. I think you might have given me the solution I need to do the right thing for Duscur.” 

Surely he was curious about why someone from the Alliance was so passionate about this subject. Surely he was taking a different measure of Claude. Perhaps even adding up stories of Almyra and squaring them with what he’d learned today. Or, maybe, just maybe… the prince was really as well-meaning and guileless as he appeared. 

Could Claude _actually_ start to let his guard down and befriend Dimitri, instead of just pretending to? Part of him longed to, but another part screamed to stop. The prince may have good intentions... but trust was still a luxury Claude couldn’t afford. 

“... Don’t mention it,” was all he said, and for the rest of the ride back, he was uncharacteristically silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of DISCOURSE out there about Dimitri, Dedue, Duscur, and how that whole situation is written in the game. Dimitri obviously has very good/pure intentions, but the writing can fall into that old trap of thinking that an individual's good intentions is good enough to solve prejudice and hatred. I think Claude's solution makes a lot more sense, personally.


	7. Chapter 7

The next month’s missions split up the classes again. Dimitri and the Lions were off to the Kingdom, to drive off more bandits alongside Felix’s father. Sylvain, despite having just transferred to another class, asked for (and received) Claude’s permission to go with them. 

“I’m sure Felix will appreciate having you along.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sylvain said, eyes wide in mock-surprise. “He hates me.” 

“Right. Hates you so much that he goes out of his way to keep spending time with you and telling you how much he hates you, instead of just ignoring you,” Claude grinned.

“Oh, you noticed? Everyone seems to have realized that by now, except for him,” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m sure he’ll wake up one day and start kicking himself.” 

“Sure. Well, speaking of, I’ll watch His Highness’ back for you.” And before Claude could think of how to react to that, Sylvain winked and strode away. 

Claude frowned. Was _he_ being obvious? No, definitely not. Sylvain was just more observant than most. Certainly more observant than Dimitri himself, who was obviously pleased any time Claude flirted with him, but didn’t seem to be putting two and two together. 

Maybe it didn’t matter. Over half the school year had gone by, and they’d soon be back in their respective nations, preparing to rule. He’d befriended the future King, and that was a good enough start for the Alliance -- and Almyra, when it came to that... 

(The idea that there might be more than politics behind his interest in the prince was briefly considered, but shoved back where it belonged. The Deer had a mission to get to). 

* * *

Travel was dangerous at the best of times, but this month, the Alliance was plagued with a series of seemingly random monster attacks. Various merchants’ guilds petitioned the Church for aid on the matter, and the Deer were the obvious choice for such an important but straightforward task. 

Tracking and slaying the monsters was simple enough, but the aftermath of the battle was where things got interesting. Ignatz and Raphael recognized one of the survivors of the attack they’d interrupted, since their parents had often done business with the man. The two held a quiet, intense conversation, and then Ignatz jumped up and beckoned Claude furiously over to them. 

“Claude… you need to hear this.” The boy looked even paler and more nervous than usual, which was saying something. 

“Sure. What’s going on?” 

“We’d just left Count Gloucester and were heading to the Riegan Dukedom with our goods when we were attacked,” the merchant explained.

Claude frowned. “You don’t think it’s a coincidence.” 

“No, your grace. The guild’s kept track of all of the attacks. In the previous year, every single one of them took place on the road from Derdriu.” 

“Duke Riegan… he died on this road, too,” Ignatz interejected.

Claude turned to study Ingatz’s face. “That was about a year ago… Wait. You think my uncle Godfrey was the first victim.” 

“He was traveling to visit Count Gloucester. They’d discussed the sale of a painting, and Duke Riegan brought two experts to evaluate the piece.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

“My parents were his first choice, but they had other business.” Ignatz spoke rapidly, in the manner of someone confessing at long last to some terrible crime. “They recommended… Raphael’s parents.” 

Raphael spoke for the first time. “Look… I keep telling you, it’s not your fault. Nobody could’ve known.” 

“They died in the attack, too,” Claude realized. The nameless merchants hadn’t been a real factor in the subsequent furor over the death of the Riegan heir, but for Raphael and his sister, it had changed everything.  
  
“And we thought it was a random tragedy, but now…” Ignatz swallowed. 

A twig snapped behind them. Claude whirled to see Lorenz’s stricken face. Sneaking around wasn’t his strong suit, and just as clearly, he’d heard more than enough of the conversation. 

This was too good to pass up. Claude let his expression twist with imagined anger - and pounced. 

“Your father murdered my uncle. That bastard! I ought to haul him before the Roundtable and demand personal satisfaction. And _you_ , if you knew about this...” 

“Claude, I swear to you, I had no idea,” Lorenz croaked. 

Claude reached under his shirt and pulled out the crescent moon necklace his grandfather had given him. He pushed it into Lorenz’s face with all the dramatic flourish he could muster. “ _This_ was all that was left on his body! Take a good look. Why, I ought to-” 

“Hey!” Raphael’s enormous hand closed on Claude’s shoulder and hauled him back. He stepped between the two nobles and glared at each in turn. 

“We can’t prove anything. This is just a rumor. Far as we know, the monster attacks are random.” He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “Hating someone, blaming someone, that’s all a waste of time. I’ve got my little sis to worry about.” 

“But…” Lorenz started.

“I don’t want to hear it. It’s settled,” Raphael announced, jabbing a finger to Lorenz’s chest. 

Claude struggled to keep a straight face. This whole situation was ridiculous, but oddly touching at the same time. He’d really underestimated Raphael. “You know what… I think you’re right.” 

“Course I’m right. Now, let’s head to the nearest village and get something to eat. I’m _starving_ ,” Raphael announced, and without further ado, he’d walked away, Ignatz at his heels. 

Lorenz blanched. “He can’t… be serious.”

“Oh, I think he was serious. Raphael’s a good man. And a lot wiser than we thought, huh?” Claude glanced at his erstwhile rival. “That said… taking out loans to enter the Academy after he just lost his parents, that can’t be easy.” 

Lorenz got it at once. “... Under the circumstances, it would be House Gloucester’s pleasure to pay those fees.” 

“Ignatz too. Maybe it’ll get his parents off his back about becoming a knight. And Leonie while you’re at it.” Claude paused. “Uh, but we can’t tell her about that, or I think she’d literally kill us.” 

“Done.” Lorenz sucked in a breath. “Claude… I genuinely didn’t know what my father had done. Make no mistake: I hate you. I intended to crush you _and_ House Riegan - but via my superior diplomacy and political maneuvering. I would have never considered something so… so _crass_ as assassination. I will get to the bottom of this!”

“You’d have lost either way,” Claude assured him with a smirk. “Fine, I believe you.” 

Lorenz blinked. “Just like that?” 

“Yeah. You’re honest and honorable, in your own way. I don’t see any reason to make you pay for your father’s crimes.” Claude narrowed his eyes. “But make no mistake, Lorenz… if I _did_ bring this up at the Roundtable… well, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the other lords won’t be nearly as understanding.” 

“I should think not. But surely you have no incentive to do so… Considering that once I become head of House Gloucester, you may count on my vote in important matters.” When Claude just stared at him in silence, Lorenz quickly added, “Plus, I will do everything in my power to influence my father’s vote towards Riegan interests. You have my word.” 

Claude relented with a grin. “Now you get it. I knew there was a reason I liked you.” 

* * *

The Lions had already returned from their own mission when Claude got back to Garreg Mach. He wasn’t surprised to find Dimitri in the training grounds, abusing some poor dummy with a wooden spear. His second spear - the one he’d accidentally broken lay in front of it. 

“Hey, Your Princeliness.” 

“Claude!” Dimitri left off his routine and nodded a greeting. 

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping.” Claude gestured at the prominent bags under his eyes. 

“I’ve been having trouble, yes… headaches, too. Nothing to worry about, though,” Dimitri said, with confidence that rang false. “Anyway, how can I help you?” 

Claude shrugged. “We might not want to talk about it here.” 

Dimitri frowned, but followed him out of the training grounds and into a more secluded corner. “What’s going on?” 

“Our mission this month had an unexpected side-benefit… I found out who killed my uncle.” 

“Who?” the prince asked, voice intent. 

“The specific individual doesn’t matter. Here’s what does: they are one of the leading voices in favor of the Alliance’s closer ties with the Empire. Lately, they’ve befriended Lord Arundel.” The last being a bald-faced lie - as far as Claude knew, Count Gloucester had never even met Arundel - but if it got Dimitri talking… 

Dimitri scowled. “Arundel again.” He deliberated for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “After Byleth mentioned it, I looked up the records of his donations. They ceased abruptly - around the same time that he retrieved Edelgard from the Kingdom.”

“He was planning _something_ , came to some resolution, and started to act on it,” Claude guessed. 

“Yes. And soon after that… the Tragedy.” 

“We can’t prove anything yet, but it’s certainly suspicious.”

“ _P_ _roof_? We won’t be able to punish these people in a court, Claude.”

Claude didn’t like the look on the prince’s face one bit. From anyone else, those words would have been reasonable cynicism, but from Dimitri… He lifted his hands. “Maybe not, but if we work together, there are steps we can take…” 

“I just need their names, and then I will kill them with my own hands,” Dimitri snarled. And there it was.

“Whoa, hold on.” Claude went to grab his shoulders, but hesitated, thinking of the broken lance. Instead, he waved between them, as if trying to break up the emotion. “You’re going to be king. You can’t just… go around murdering people. The diplomatic crisis that would cause… Arundel is still uncle to the crown princess.”

The prince’s lip curled. “You think I care about politics? I came to the Academy for one reason. Revenge. My duty to the dead is all that matters.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Claude muttered. And he thought _he_ was two-faced at times. Dimitri was like a man possessed.

“If you’re not with me on this, then stay out of my way,” Dimitri spat. And before Claude could think of the best way to phrase his reply, the prince was stalking away.

Now _that_ … wasn’t a good sign. For the second time since the mock battle, it was like a switch had been flipped, the naive but well-meaning prince replaced with something much uglier. 

Claude had hoped for someone he could manipulate into a personal and political alliance. But there wasn’t anything he could do with “the boar.” And helping _it_ might be like pointing a weapon straight at the Empire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Raphael who is the one (1) student in this game who processes his Tragic Backstory in an emotionally healthy way. I remember not thinking much of him on my first couple routes, but being really impressed with him after his and Ignatz's paralogue.


	8. Chapter 8

Ever polite, Dimitri apologized for his unsettling outburst the next day, but he didn’t offer any explanation. Claude wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , leave it at that. Even irrational behavior _must_ have some sort of explanation. 

It was time to ask Felix what exactly he knew about it. 

The training grounds tended to be empty in the evenings, except, of course, for the Fraldarius boy. Claude supposed he must have stopped to eat occasionally, but rarely saw him actually doing so. Tonight was no exception, and he found Felix all by himself.

“Hi there.” 

Felix looked up, grunted, and turned back to his dummy. 

A clear dismissal, but Claude wasn’t deterred. “I want to talk about what you told me a few weeks ago. This ‘boar prince’ business.” 

Another grunt. The sound of the impact of a wooden sword on a dummy. 

“Yesterday, we were talking about the people behind Duscur, and he went… well… full boar, if you know what I mean.” 

“Of course he did. He’s unstable. I keep telling everyone,” Felix scoffed. He still sounded dismissive, but at least he’d turned around to look at Claude. And despite his tone, he was visibly pleased that someone seemed to believe him.

“You do, yeah, but I mean… He’ll be your king in less than a year, right? You don’t see any problem with this?” Claude asked. He put his hands behind his head, posing himself in casual disinterest. Hmm, actually, it might not be the best pose, since Sylvain used it and they were joined at the hip. It was a thought for later consideration.

Felix’s lip curled into a sneer. “I’m not going to stand around gossiping about the boar.” He picked up a second wooden sword and tossed it at Claude. “You want to talk, keep me entertained.” 

“If you insist.” Claude flourished the practice weapon and assumed a ready stance. Nader had trained him well. With any other opponent, Claude would hold back his true skill, but Felix both wouldn’t talk to him if he did and was unlikely to tell anyone.

Felix started with an aggressive series of blows that kept Claude completely on the defensive. After a minute or two, he must’ve decided the other was worthy of talking to him, because he started to speak in between strikes. 

“My father calls it battle madness. Says it runs in the family. That they called Loog ‘the King of Lions’ for a reason.” 

“You mean their Crests influence their behavior. Their minds? I’ve never heard of that.” Claude frowned and had to dodge a high strike to his shoulder.

“Do I look like a Crest scholar?” 

Claude stepped back to avoid a particularly vicious slash. “No. But now that you mention it, Judith keeps saying I do so-and-so exactly like my grandfather and uncle. Who I’d never met. Fascinating…” 

“Pay attention.” Felix reprimanded him with a sharp rap on his sword hand. 

“Fine, fine.” Claude pushed him back with a series of stabs, impatient to keep talking. “If all your kings and queens are victims of this ‘battle madness,’ how does your Kingdom even function?” 

Another sneer. “The old man says House Fraldarius’ most important role is watching out for them. The voice of reason in the ruler’s ear. He even studied White magic to heal Lambert during battle.” 

It made sense. From everything Claude had heard, Fraldarius was second only to the royal family. Suitable rewards for long years of faithful service and support… The Alliance was too young and independent for such dynamics to have formed, but he knew his history.

“I can’t help but notice you aren’t a healer yourself.” 

“I refuse to live my life by dead men’s ideas of honor. If the boar gets himself killed, that’s his affair.” Felix disarmed Claude with a sudden flourish, and snarled, “He’s taken more than enough from us already.” 

Of course - the older brother, Glenn. Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix had all mentioned him at times. Their interconnected web of tragedy. 

Claude massaged the welt on his hand and offered his opponent a grin. “Well, looks like you win. Thanks for the chat.” 

Felix grunted. “You were at a disadvantage. You clearly didn’t learn to fight with an arming sword.” 

“...Excuse me?” Not the most convincing denial, but the casual way Felix had tossed it out there unsettled Claude. 

“You’re trying to hide it, but your instincts betray you. Your stance, the way you parry. I’m guessing some sort of curved blade, but…” Felix shrugged as he turned back to his dummy. “Keep your secrets. They don’t matter to me.” 

_Well, thank the gods I read him correctly._

Claude left before he accidentally gave away anything else. Besides, Felix had given him more than enough to think about. 

* * *

The monastery was thrown into disarray the next morning. Sometime during the previous night, Flayn had vanished, leaving Seteth beside himself with worry. Search parties scoured the grounds, but were quickly forced to conclude that she’d been taken somewhere else. 

Claude was intrigued to discover, from an offhand comment of Seteth’s, that Garreg Mach was situated above a whole network of underground tunnels. A major one, called Abyss, was even used for political prisoners. But only some of the tunnels were mapped, and Flayn wasn’t found among those. Her kidnapper might have taken her down one of the pathways that the Church didn’t know about. More search parties were sent off with torches. 

Was it a ploy to get to Seteth? He was notoriously overprotective, but Claude was certain Rhea wouldn’t bend the knee, even for his sake. So what did the kidnappers hope to accomplish? If it was money, the Academy had far more valuable targets. Was it ease of access? Doubtful, since Claude didn’t even know where Flayn lived in the monastery - and he’d looked. No, it had to be deeper than that, which just gave credence to his theories that Seteth was far more than he appeared.

Then, one of the pegasus knights returned with more bad news. Remire Village was burning. It was difficult to tell what was happening, even from the air, but for some reason, the villagers had turned on each other and started killing one another. 

“This may be connected,” Seteth murmured to Rhea.

“I agree. We must investigate at once.” 

“So many of the Knights are down below, searching for Flayn. Send our class out instead,” Dimitri volunteered. No surprise there.

Edelgard nodded in agreement. “He’s right. The Black Eagles are ready, and we must act quickly to stop whatever’s happening there.”

“Well, I’d look like a real jerk if I didn’t volunteer the Deer, too,” Claude drawled. “But seriously, I’m sure the three of us can handle it.” 

Another look passed between the adults, then Seteth nodded. “We’re grateful for your assistance. Please go at once, and save as many people as you can.” 

As he mechanically gathered his class together, Claude’s mind worked furiously. Was this a diversion to ensure that Flayn’s kidnapper got away? Or were they walking into a trap? Seteth and Rhea both knew more than they were saying - that much was clear. 

And if there was one thing Claude hated, it was not having all the answers. 

* * *

The scene that greeted them at the village was like nothing they’d ever seen before. Men and women with mad, empty eyes pounced on their fellows like animals bringing down prey. A handful of the horrible demonic beasts were smashing through what few huts weren’t burning. 

As Claude surveyed the scene, he saw one of the maddened villagers dropped to all fours, body twisting and voice lifted in an unnatural scream. In under a minute, another monster rose in his place. 

“Just like Miklan.” 

“But no Relic weapon to cause it.” Edelgard examined the monster with clinical interest. 

“That’s what they’re doing here - whoever _they_ are,” Claude realized. “Trying to create their own monsters. But how? And why so close to the monastery where there’s an army ready to destroy them?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Dimitri pushed past both of them, voice hot with anger. “Using the innocents in this village as pawns in their game… it’s unforgivable. We find them, and we put them down like the animals they are!” 

And before anyone could stop him, he lifted his lance and charged into the burning village. 

“That’s… unwise.” Edelgard sighed. “Claude, can you take command? Hubert and I will go ahead and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.” 

“Right.” He beckoned the students from all three classes to follow him. “Move carefully, people. We don’t want to get flanked by those monsters.” 

It was probably the first time a lot of the students had seen a slaughter like this. Claude was numb to it, but his heart went out to people like Marianne. They pulled one man from a burning hut and started to heal them, only to have to put him down when his transformation began. Claude ordered her to look away and did it himself.

Linhardt lagged behind, clearly in some sort of shock, mumbling to himself about the smell of blood. Claude grimaced and ordered Caspar to keep his friend moving. Cold as it was, they had to stick together for his own safety. 

At the back edge of the village, towards the forest, they found Dimitri. He brandished his lance at... Tomas, the Church librarian. Though Claude was still several feet away, he could hear the prince’s shout clearly enough.

“Get away from her!” 

“I found her like this,” Tomas said, brow furrowed in confusion as he gestured at Flayn’s unconscious form. “I was simply tending to her wounds.” 

“You were draining her blood like the monster you are!” Dimitri didn’t notice as Claude and the others came up behind him.

“He’s gone mad. Please don’t let him hurt me,” Tomas whimpered, clasping his hands as he stared plaintively at Claude. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ve only got one question.” Claude pointed down at the man’s legs. “Where’s your cane?” 

Tomas’s expression twisted into a smirk. “Clever boy. Too observant for your own good.” Abruptly, he flung a blast of corrupted Dark magic at Dimitri, blowing the prince off his feet with the sheer force of it. The librarian was gone, and something else stood there. Human in shape, but with sickly white skin and unnatural proportions. 

“My name is not Tomas. I am Solon. This girl is _mine_. If you wish to live, turn tail and flee!” 

Masked soldiers, their armor jet-black, burst from the forest to surround them. 

The unexpected fight was as quick as it was brutal. Whoever these people were, their armor was like nothing Claude had seen before, but it had gaps, all the same. Months of practice and combat instruction left the students moving with coordinated ferocity, and they outnumbered the mysterious enemy. 

When the tide turned on his soldiers, Solon clicked his tongue in disgust and simply vanished. Warp magic, but so advanced that even Lystheia had failed to stop him. Claude filed that detail away for later consideration. 

Marianne and Mercedes had Dimitri on his feet by then, and Dedue helped support him. The prince regarded Claude with a rueful expression. The battle madness, or whatever it was, seemed to have passed. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I apologize for running ahead like that. Thank you for keeping everyone safe.” 

“Don’t mention it. Is Flayn-” 

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’ll live,” Linhardt announced. “We should get her back right away, though.” 

“Agreed. Everyone, head back. Stick together, there might be more of them out there, and they might come after her again.” Claude took Dimitri’s other arm and slung it over his shoulders. “We’ll be right behind you.” 

“I’m sure I can walk on my own,” the prince protested.

“Don’t give me that tough guy act. That magic was nasty stuff. Just let me help.” Claude cleared his throat, and contained himself only until the rest of the students save Dedue were too far ahead to overhear. “Those soldiers…” 

Dimitri’s hand clenched painfully into his shoulder, a reflexive gesture. “Yes. The very same armor. This was _their_ doing.” 

Before Claude could reply, there was another faint woosh of Warp magic, and a figure stood in front of them. 

They weren’t particularly tall or broad, but moved in heavy armor without apparent effort. Another mask covered their face, but this one was different from the others - white and red instead of black. 

Dimitri snarled and wrenched free from Claude and Dedue’s grips. “ _You_!” 

“I am the Flame Emperor,” the figure announced, ignoring Dimitri for the moment. The mask swiveled to look at Claude. “You will know more of my designs soon enough.” 

“That Solon character, he’s one of yours, huh?” Claude spoke lightly, but one eye was on the prince. He shouldn’t even be able to stand on his own accord, but sheer rage seemed to be keeping him upright. 

“ _No_. That is why I am speaking to you now. The village was not my doing. If I had known, I would have stopped them.” 

“You’re lying,” Dimitri shouted. “I saw you, in Duscur! Commanding the fiends that murdered my family, my friends…” 

Behind him, Dedue stirred and regarded the masked figure with a fierce expression. Claude figured he wouldn’t outright attack without his lord’s permission, but he _did_ put his hand on the hilt of his axe. 

“I had nothing to do with that,” the Flame Emperor insisted. “And it is not the only tragedy engineered by their hands. If you wish to prevent others in the future, you must listen to me.” 

Claude was intrigued - enough to listen to their story, if nothing else - but the decision was taken out of his hands. Dimitri, weaponless, lunged at them. The Flame Emperor sighed and warped away again, the prince’s hands closing on empty air instead of their throat.

Dimitri groaned, head in his hands. “I let them get away… I’m so sorry.” 

He clearly wasn’t talking to Claude, which was unsettling enough on its own. Claude bent down next to him. “Hey… be careful. You’re wounded.” 

Dimitri didn’t even look at him. 

Claude huffed out a breath. “Well, that was interesting. Sounds like there’s some division in the ranks of this group, whoever they are.” 

_Now_ Dimitri looked at him, and his face was twisted into an ugly expression. “Don’t tell me you believed their lies, Claude.” 

“I don’t know what I believe. I need more information.” 

“I know what I saw,” Dimitri growled. “Here’s your information. This so-called Flame Emperor will die. Solon and all the others will die. I’ll kill every last one of them!” 

Still heedless of his injury, he stalked away, back towards Garreg Mach. Dedue followed silently in his wake. Claude frowned at the sight of it, but didn’t try to stop him. 

At this rate, Dimitri _would_ get himself killed. Claude had no intention of being dragged down there with him. He couldn’t let any other feelings overrule his cold instinct for self-preservation -- not when listening to it was all that had kept him alive this long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another two for one special on main missions! I figure Jeritza could manage to steal Flayn without blowing his cover if he was a full professor.


	9. Chapter 9

The revelation that Garreg Mach’s librarian - who had been working there for four _decades_ \- had betrayed them and kidnapped Flayn was met with… a distinct lack of paranoia, in Claude’s opinion. 

They didn’t know if Solon could change shape to look like anyone, or just had the single alternate guise of Tomas. They didn’t know if it was literal shape-shifting or powerful illusion magic. Critically, they didn’t know how many others like Solon might have similar powers. There could be another spy inside the monastery at this very moment. 

It would certainly be enough to drive all the Church officials mad with worry. Unless - and as classes continued like nothing had happened, Claude favored this explanation more and more - the Church knew more than it was letting on. Knowledge was power, and if Solon and his group had well-known limitations, there was less to fear. 

Getting any information out of Seteth was a total dead end. The man was grateful to all of them for the return of his sister, actually unbending enough to _hug_ Claude on his return that night. (It still didn’t feel real). His gratitude quickly turned back to the usual sighs of annoyance and tight lips, though, when Claude pressed him for information about Solon. 

Why had they wanted Flayn? What about her blood, specifically, had enabled those transformations? Hanneman had never been permitted to study her Crest, which was telling in itself. There must be something unique about it. It explained why Seteth was so overprotective. Plus, if Solon could’ve used anyone with a major Crest, there would’ve been no need to blow his cover with such an overt action… 

Claude’s attempts to interrogate Flayn directly bore no fruit, either. The girl was one of the worst liars he’d ever encountered, and was clearly hiding something, but survived his questions by refusing to answer any of them, twisting the conversation to banalities. He’d have to keep her in mind for his court if he ever decided to take a throne or two.

He shared his notes with Dimitri, at least, once the prince was out of the infirmary.

“If Solon isn’t the only one who can change his shape…”

The prince nodded. “I’ve considered that. Arundel’s change in behavior, the donations to the Church stopping, him leaving the Kingdom so suddenly. It would all make sense.” 

“And if we continue down this line of logic…” Claude frowned. “The Tragedy, and my uncle’s death. So _they’ve_ ensured the heirs to the Alliance and Kingdom are both young and inexperienced, _and_ one of their own is one of the most powerful lords in the Empire.”

“Perhaps we should inform Edelgard of our suspicions. Warn her that she might be in danger.” 

“Without evidence? She’d think we’re crazy. Or so paranoid after the Solon thing that we’re jumping at shadows.” Claude shook his head. “Or, worse…” That was what Claude suspected, really. Edelgard was too practical and too aware of Claude’s own intelligence to dismiss the notion out of hand. However, Hubert used the corrupted magic seemingly without whatever burden Lysithea carried for hers... which couldn't mean anything good.

Dimitri frowned at the implication of his silence. “I don’t believe it.” 

“Look, I’m not saying she _is_ involved. I’m just examining all the possible options, here. She’s cold, ambitious… And we don’t really _know_ her.” 

“You don’t, but I do,” the prince countered. “The girl I knew when we were both children in Faerghus… It’s simply not possible.” 

“Well… okay. Warn her if you wish; it might not be a bad idea.” 

Claude left Dimitri to it. The prince was clearly concerned for her safety with Arundel’s knife at her back, but Claude was more worried about the implications of the other possibility… that his knife was for Edelgard’s enemies. 

He passed Lysithea while walking back to his room - and walked face-first into his closed door when a thought struck him. Hubert was far too tall to be the so-called Flame Emperor, but _Edelgard..._

* * *

The annual ball proceeded as normal, despite the kidnapping. The event attracted some visiting nobility - though not as many as the mock battle - and the gates to the monastery stood open for the night. Tradition dictated that all three House leaders take the first dance. Graceful movement was second nature for Claude, but he noted that Dimitri moved with stiff formality. He knew the prescribed steps, but had no talent for it whatsoever. 

The prince fled the floor as soon as he could without causing a scandal. Claude lingered, making sure that all of his class (even - and especially - the shy Marianne) were enjoying themselves. He even dragged Byleth out for one dance, smirking as she glared at him the entire time, not able to pull away without making a scene. After it was over, she stomped off to drink with her father.

Claude noted her mother, a pretty monk named Sitri, on Jeralt’s arm. He’d heard she was one of Rhea’s closest confidants, which might explain why he’d never seen her before tonight. Rhea made a habit of secretiveness. The roster of Cardinals was not even public knowledge, which struck Claude as a decidedly odd way to run a Church. 

Now that the ball was well underway, his absence wouldn’t be noted, and so he ducked out of the hall for a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t surprised to see Dimitri out in the garden. 

“You really ought to have some fun once in a while,” Claude said.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m afraid I’m not one for balls,” the prince said with a shudder. 

“I could tell. Not much of a dancer, huh?” 

Dimitri nodded. “I’ve always been hopeless. Edelgard taught me as a child, you know. I believe she found the whole experience very frustrating.” 

“Sounds like you two were really close during that year she was in the Kingdom,” Claude noted. Odd, then, that they were so distant with each other now. 

Dimitri picked up on his tone of voice. “Oh yes. She’s… changed, quite a bit, and has forgotten most of it. That dagger she wears - I actually gave it to her. She was surprised when I mentioned it the other day.”

“Really? It wasn’t that long ago…” 

“Upon her return to the Empire, she fell very ill. Nearly died. Apparently it’s not uncommon for memory loss to result.”

The prince seemed to take the story at face value, but Claude wasn’t so sure. There was also the fact that her hair was bleached of all color - quite similar to Lystheia, come to think of it. Not many illnesses he’d ever heard of caused _that_. Lystheia was quite guarded about her own past, but had made reference to a curse, or burden, placed upon her by an enemy and related to the Insurrection of the Seven and House Ordelia’s alliance with House Hrym. (Actually, when had Dimitri said Edelgard was in the Empire?)

Was Lystheia referring to the same people that had taken Flayn? Now he really was sounding paranoid… Unless it made more sense for all of these tragedies to be the work of one group of people, instead of several working at the same time without stepping on each others’ toes. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. His mother had made him practice using servants for subterfuge, and he’d failed horribly - it was hard to control that many individuals at once.

“That’s a shame,” he said aloud. “Hey, since you’re not going back in there, let’s go for a walk.” 

Dimitri blinked at him. “Where?” 

“Just trust me.”

The prince looked bemused, but followed Claude’s lead. With steps that seemed to meander but were actually planned out, Claude took him to the base of the goddess tower, at the north end of the monastery grounds. 

“Well… looks like it’s open. Want to go up?” 

Dimitri looked at him. “Of course it’s open. Surely you’ve heard of the legends.” 

“Let’s say I haven’t.” 

“Oh… romantic notions. People who pledge their love at the top, during this moon, will be bound together forever. That sort of thing.” 

“Wow, that’s way too serious for me right now. But it’s a clear night. Bet the view’s nice.” Claude gave Dimitri a sly look. 

“It might be pleasant,” the prince agreed.

As far as a political seduction went, this was a bit over the top… But once they were at the top of the tower, their faces framed by the light of the full moon, Claude thought he wouldn’t mind mixing business and pleasure. 

“Claude… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about… Us.” 

“And here I thought you were just completely oblivious.” 

“Far from it. Just… uncertain. You toss words around so casually, and I don’t always know how serious they are.” 

“You turn bright red every time I so much as flirt,” Claude laughed. “I’m afraid of what would happen if I was serious.” 

“This doesn’t come easily to me,” Dimitri admitted. “But… if you _were_ serious… that might not be so unpleasant.” 

“Damn, you’re right; you are _very_ bad at this. Just stop talking,” Claude told him. Instead, he put a hand on the prince’s face and drew him closer. 

Then a scream pierced the still night, causing both of them to jump apart. 

“Where…” 

“The chapel,” Claude said. It was the only place close enough for them to have heard it so clearly. 

They both took off at a run - down the winding stairs as quickly as they could, and towards the chapel entrance. Someone had extinguished the torches, and Claude blinked his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Beside him, Dimitri inhaled sharply. 

More of the masked people, gathered in a semi-circle. Solon, in his true form, as twisted and ugly as he’d been at the village. And in front of them… Sitri Eisner, forced to her knees, hands tied behind her back. The scream had been hers, but a gag stuffed into her mouth prevented her from uttering another.

“Test it,” Solon ordered. 

One of the masked figures stepped forward, a cloth bundle of some sort in his hands. Claude tensed - he wished he had his bow, but of course, he’d left it behind. He glanced at Dimitri, seeing the frustration in the other’s eyes. The prince’s belt was empty of its usual sword - the damned formalities of the ball. 

“We have to help her,” Dimitri hissed.

“Without weapons? It’s suicide.” 

“I won’t stand idly by!” 

Claude’s mind whirled. He wasn’t very good at magic, but he could manage a weak blast of wind. Dimitri was stronger than any normal human had a right to be, possibly due to that Crest of his - deadly enough with his bare hands. It wasn’t much, but _maybe_ he could come up with some sort of plan. 

“Alright, alright. Just… wait for my signal,” he said. 

As Sitri struggled - to no avail - the cloth fell away from the bundle. To Claude’s shock, the masked figure produced what was clearly a Relic weapon - the way it looked, the power that hummed in the air. But everything he’d read - even the non-Church approved records he managed to get his hands on - only talked about ten such weapons, and this wasn’t one of them. 

There was something different about this sword, too. No red Crest stone set in the middle to power it. It looked limp and lifeless compared to, say, the twitching Lance of Ruin. 

But all that changed. As the weapon was placed over Sitri’s chest, there was a glow, and the sword’s interlocking sections began to _move_.

“She has it,” Solon breathed. “At last…” Then he snapped his fingers, barking a command: “Cut it out of her.” 

The underling with the Relic retreated out of the way. Another stepped forward, a black knife gleaming in his hand. Claude swore. He still hadn’t figured out the best way to make the initial wind spell count, but they were out of time. 

Even as he and Dimitri leaped into Solon’s line of sight, fully prepared for a vain and potentially fatal effort, Claude heard the thunder of a horse’s hooves. He had to make an undignified second leap to get out of the way as Jeralt charged into the fray. The captain of the knights was alone, without proper armor, but at least he had a weapon - a long spear that he didn’t hesitate to thrust into Solon’s stomach. 

As Jeralt wheeled his horse through the rest of the enemies, scattering them, Claude ran to Sitri’s side and started untying her. Behind him, he heard Dimitri snarl, followed by a sickening thump of impact. One of the masked figures fell to the ground - gods, killed by a single blow from the prince. 

A horrible, rasping chant in another language. Claude looked up sharply, instincts screaming a warning of danger. Solon, though lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, had managed to choke out a spell with his dying breath. The white face twisted into a smirk as he lifted his hand and loosed a blast of that horrible dark magic.

No time to get out of the way. Just enough time for his life to flash before his eyes. Everything he’d wanted to accomplish… and instead, he’d be dying. The worst part - it would be at the hands of a mystery he didn’t understand, collateral damage for the spell intended to kill another. 

At the last possible moment, something blocked the magic: Jeralt. How he’d flung himself from the horse in time, Claude would never know. The captain took the full force of the blast. It must have been agony - Claude could _hear_ his ribs breaking - but Jeralt didn’t make a sound. 

Sitri did, though - a cry of anguish as she flung herself over her husband’s prone form. 

Torches flared. More hooves pounded. Claude sat back, dazed, as Knights swarmed over the scene. The surviving masked figures had fled, the mysterious Relic with them. He noted with a vague sort of interest that there weren’t any bodies. They’d all been magicked away. 

“Jeralt? Please, say something!” his wife begged, though her voice sounded very far away. 

“He’s dead,” one of the Knights said, his voice shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

As Sitri wailed, giving voice to her despair, Claude rose and stumbled away. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be listening to that. 

Dimitri caught him before he’d gone too far. He said something, though Claude only caught isolated phrases. “Some of that magic still hit... the infirmary… carry you.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. The last thing he felt before he passed out completely was Dimitri’s arms around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was several hundred words into an alternate version of the first scene where Claude goes with Dimitri to talk to Edelgard, but it wasn't working. He's too smart and suspects too much already. Can't let him break the plot!


	10. Chapter 10

Claude dreamed about flying. 

When he turned ten years old, his father gave him the traditional Almyran gift of a newborn wyvern, but not just any wyvern. An albino, the runt of its litter, alone and unwanted. Later in life, Claude would realize the subtle jab implicit in the present - the outsider child, given the only wyvern that looked different from all the others, further emphasizing how different he was from to his half-siblings. Painting yet another target on his back. But as a child? He was over the moon. 

He named her Mahtab, and raised her by hand, as was expected. Slowly, the mottled, ugly white skin became a beautiful sheen - the color of snow. 

When she’d grown large enough to carry a rider, Claude spent hours each day flying. He was a natural, but there was more to it than that. Up there, he didn’t have to worry about a knife in his back or poison in his food. His only companion wasn’t much of a talker, but she would never betray him. 

The open sky, a bird’s-eye view of the land below him… it was beautiful in a way that even Claude struggled to put into words. 

But then the dream changed. He wasn’t in control anymore. Dark magic flew out of nowhere and struck Mahtab. He was falling, the ground stretching out to crush him… 

Claude woke abruptly and sat bolt upright, only for his side to scream in protest. It took him several seconds to remember where he was and what had happened. The infirmary, no doubt about it. 

He carefully lifted the thin shirt to look at his side. He couldn’t see any physical injury, but the magic had left a sickly residue, black and unnatural-looking as the spell itself. 

“You’re awake.” 

Claude twisted his neck to see… Dimitri, seated in a chair next to his bed. The room otherwise empty, a glance out the window told him it was well past midnight. 

He cast about for something clever, but only managed, “Yeah, I noticed,” through cracked lips. 

Dimitri hastily offered him a glass of water. As Claude drank, the prince recounted what they’d discovered about the attack. It turned out that someone had knocked the gatekeeper unconscious that night, easing the way for Solon and his cronies, but there was no clue as to whom. All they knew was that _someone_ else - a teacher, student, or Knight - was a traitor. Possibly a direct member of the group.

“How long was I out?” Claude said. Speaking was easier now that his throat was less dry, but he still felt… wrong. Weak. It was quite a bit like recovering from being poisoned, actually. 

“Over a day. It was… bad, Claude. The way that magic was eating at you - Manuela said she’d never seen anything like it.” Dimitri bit his lip. 

“It seems to have gotten full,” he joked. Still not his best material, but he gave himself a pass under the circumstances. 

“Every monk in the monastery who could be spared was pouring white magic into you. It only started to recede a few hours ago. For a while, I thought… we all thought…” Dimitri struggled to complete the thought, but Claude could read it in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry to have worried you. But look, it’s fine, now.” 

“It’s not fine! You nearly died. They _did_ kill Captain Jeralt. They can’t continue to get away with causing this sort of pain!” 

Claude wished he was more surprised by the way Dimitri’s gaze was suddenly distant, no longer focused on him. But in truth, he was becoming all too accustomed to these swings in the prince’s mood. 

“I will avenge you, just as I avenge all of their other victims. I swear it,” Dimitri intoned. 

“So that’s it? I’m just one more name on your list of obligations? Way to make a guy feel special.” 

“They _hurt_ you. Don’t you want to pay them back?” 

“No. What’s the point of that?” Claude shook his head. “I want to find out what they’re hiding. I want to take the truth behind them and drag it kicking and screaming into the light. I need that information to protect the people I care about - before there’s any _need_ to avenge them.” 

Dimitri scowled at him. “All well and good, but the dead don’t have the luxury of your high-mindedness.” 

“The dead, always the dead.” He shouldn’t be pushing Dimitri like this, but Claude’s inability to get through to him was frustrating to no end. “You still have a lot of friends left alive, and they’d tell you the same thing if they were here.” _Or at least, Felix would._

“Enough.” It wasn’t the 'boar’ that stood and bowed stiffly, but the formal politeness closed Dimitri off almost as much as if he _had_ been raving. They’d been alone on top of the goddess tower just two nights ago, with no barriers between them - but now there might as well be a mountain range blocking their way. 

“I wish you a swift recovery, Claude.”

“Yeah… sure. Thanks.” 

* * *

As the days ticked by, Claude itched to be in the library instead of lying in this bed. What was this mysterious eleventh Relic? He’d pored over the records on them as soon as he’d gotten here. The Church had documented the weapons and artifacts belonging to the Ten Elites and their descendents well enough, but ten was the number in each source. There wasn’t much talk about Nemesis’ own weapon - could he have used this sword? But if so, where had it been all this time?

And why, exactly, had it reacted to Sitri? Hanneman’s device had shown the potential for a new Crest in Byleth’s child - could that be related? Latent potential within that bloodline to awaken the sword, with a future Crest-bearer able to fully use it?

Rhea was the one who was so eager to see Byleth wed. If the sword had been kept here and stolen by Solon, she would presumably know about it and what needed to be done to activate it. Was this all part of her plan? What _was_ her plan?

Too many questions, and realistically, even if he _was_ allowed out, the Church-approved texts certainly wouldn’t give him the answers. 

Then there was the matter of Edelgard and Hubert. There was no-one in the monastery that Claude trusted enough to voice his suspicions - at least, no-one who would _also_ be capable of acting on them. Digging up her potential secrets required a subtle touch, one he was totally powerless to wield at the moment.

Edelgard came to visit him on his second day of consciousness, her due diligence as another House leader, but she came in the middle of the day, when there was no chance of a private confrontation. They exchanged banalities, smiles that didn’t reach their eyes, and then she was gone, leaving Claude to stew in his frustrations. 

Byleth visited him later that same day, demanding - and receiving - an account of what had happened. Knowing her father died heroically was little comfort - she would get along with Felix. Knowing that his killers were part of the same group behind Flayn’s kidnapping and Remire Village - Claude kept Duscur and his own uncle to himself - just made her angry. 

“They’re still out there. And we’re sitting here like frightened children instead of hunting them down. That’s not what _he_ would have wanted,” she’d snarled.

Clearly not everyone agreed with Rhea’s orders. But she had a point - rushing off to seek revenge without a plan was a foolish idea. Of course, things would be different once they _did_ have a plan… 

The plan developed on the day after Jeralt’s funeral, which Claude had _almost_ recovered enough to attend. Lystheia visited him that afternoon, her expression troubled but resigned. Manuela had gone out for “tea,” a process that usually took hours and left her reeking with the smell of alcohol, so Claude knew it was safe to talk. 

“We need to talk about those people that killed the Captain,” she announced. “I may… know something about them.” 

It all came tumbling out, then. Her condition was House Ordelia’s punishment for being on the wrong side of the Insurrection. She’d been seized by masked men, with some unspecified connection to the Empire. Subjected to horrific experiments that left most dead - except Lystheia, implanted with a second Crest that drastically shortened her lifespan. Then - for reasons she still couldn’t fathom - she’d simply been turned loose.

“Wait. Your hair - sorry, but I need to know - that was a side-effect of the second Crest?”

“I suppose it was.” 

The pieces clicked into place. Claude frowned. “I think… you might have been their test subject. They wanted to make sure it could be done... before trying it on the Imperial heir.” 

Lystheia’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that. Edelgard _has_ been checking up on me. She never said anything… but I could tell she knew about my… condition.” 

“These people are more directly involved in the Empire than we thought. Dammit, we need to confront her.” Claude was kicking himself for leaving it up to Dimitri in the first place. Who knows what she'd been up to while he was stuck in bed...

There was an enormous, loud yawn, and someone else said: “She left, right after the funeral. She and Hubert were needed in Enbarr for some urgent business.” 

Both Claude and Lystheia flinched. There he was: Linhardt, leaning in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. He’d been so still and silent that they hadn’t noticed him at all. 

“Sorry for listening,” the boy said, with an utter lack of sincerity, “but you interrupted my nap.” 

Claude frowned at him. “Napping in the hallway… Right. No more games. What else can you tell us?” 

“About this mysterious cabal that’s been haranguing us, and that you think controls the Empire itself from the shadows? I don’t know anything about them.” Linhardt paused for effect. “... Except, of course, how to track them down.” 

“What?” 

“That warp magic of theirs was simply fascinating. Everyone said that it couldn’t be traced, but I didn’t think that was quite right. By every known law of magic, transportation requires significant force, equal to the mass of the object moved… Well, I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say, there would be residual traces.

“And this helps us… how, exactly?” Claude asked. 

“You can use the residuals to determine how far they needed to warp, and even to determine their final location,” Linhardt explained. “This is simply theoretical, though, because you would need someone who can use the kind of magic they use. It’s not anima - I hear people are calling it ‘dark magic,’ which is crude, but I suppose it gets the point across…” 

“If you show me your theory, I can do it,” Lystheia said, with simple confidence.

“Ah. _You_ can use their magic. Like Hubert, but not like Hubert... Another side-effect of those experiments, I presume? Fascinating.” He looked at her with sudden, new interest. 

“I’m not your test subject!” 

“Right. Well, as to the theory, it’s really quite simple…” 

Claude was completely lost in the discussion that followed, which also involved several complex-looking diagrams that the two mages scratched out with a pencil and notepad. The conclusion was clear enough, though: Lystheia had no doubt in her ability to track Jeralt’s attackers down. 

“We really shouldn’t run off and deal with them ourselves. We should tell the Knights about this,” Claude said, though that was the last thing he intended to do. 

“You _should,_ ” Byleth agreed. Claude flinched again - damn it, how did she keep sneaking up on him? She was even wearing full armor this time.

He met her eyes, saw the anger in them. And he immediately understood. “But we won’t.” 

“If you and your friends run off in some misguided attempt to hunt them down, I’ll have no choice but to follow you. Rhea may have forbidden me from getting involved, but with students in danger, what other option do I have?” 

“And you’d say our chances of sneaking out are…” 

“Tonight? Very good. Afterwards? Hard to say. Might not want to risk it.” Byleth didn’t elaborate, not that he expected her to. 

It seemed like it was tonight or not at all, and Claude didn’t intend to be left out of the action. He lowered his legs to the floor and tested his balance. It hurt, but he’d dealt with worse pain. 

“Let’s go.” 

* * *

Somewhat against his own better judgment, Claude told Dimitri about the plan. The prince thanked him politely enough, and at least he didn’t lose his temper right away, but his expression grew distant, and his eyes lost their focus on Claude’s face. 

“It’s almost over…” 

Claude sighed. They hadn’t spoken since that the prince’s first visit to the infirmary, when Dimitri had rejected his advice to focus on the living. There'd certainly been no suggestion from the prince that they continue to pursue the… whatever it had been, that night in the tower. And whenever Dimitri got like this, it was much easier for Claude to remind himself that he really should be guarding his heart, keeping his distance. 

They assembled on the chapel grounds that night. Byleth waited for them, silent as a ghost, expression set into a forbidding scowl. Caspar, of course, had tagged along with Lindhardt in the end, even though Claude had sternly warned Linhardt not to tell any of the other Imperial students. Dimitri arrived, flanked by both Dedue and Felix. Then Lystheia showed up, shooting Claude an apologetic look. She’d been followed by the the entire Golden Deer class, Sylvain included. 

“Is the whole monastery about to turn up?” Claude hissed.

Hilda batted her eyelashes at him. “Don’t get so upset. It’s not my fault I’m too smart for you. Anyway, we’re not going to let you get yourself killed. Can you even fire a bow with your wounds?”

Claude had to admit that point - he wasn’t even holding a weapon aside from a concealed dagger. He looked around and met each of his classmates’ eyes in turn, seeing the resolve there. Most of them had no personal stake in this - well, Leonie had met Jeralt once, and came away so impressed that she’d come to the Academy with the goal of joining his Knights. But the rest were here, not for revenge, but to protect _him._

Claude blinked and passed an arm casually over his eyes. He was more touched than he could say, but this wasn’t the time to go around showing it. 

Fortunately, Lystheia got the tracking spell working at that very moment, and only Hilda seemed to notice, smirking over her shoulder at him as they started to follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting back to back because I split the next chapter into multiple parts - it was getting WAY too long. On the plus side, this adds more recovery downtime for Claude than I had originally planned.


	11. Chapter 11

Byleth had done something to divert the guards, so they passed out of the gate without any resistance. To everyone’s surprise, they didn’t have far to go. The spell was directing them towards the Sealed Forest, just outside the monastery. 

Claude heard the voices before he saw them. It was the dead of night in an abandoned forest, and they were confident they were alone, not bothering to whisper. 

“It still doesn’t work.” That was the distorted, clipped voice of the Flame Emperor. Beside him, Dimitri stirred, gripping the haft of his spear until his knuckles were white. But at least he didn’t run ahead. 

“I didn’t think it would.” Claude didn’t recognize that voice right away, but something about it sounded familiar to him, somehow. “We still need the Crest Stone.” 

“If your agent had not been so incompetent…” 

“He was unlucky, that is all. It matters not. The substitute is ready. And when we crush the monastery, we will take the Stone from the wreckage.” 

Claude frowned - that second voice spoke confidently of an attack that would take significant military resources. Not compatible with this group that skulked in the shadows… but perhaps compatible with the Empire’s army… 

Byleth caught his eye and gestured sharply at the other students. She drew her rapier silently from its oiled sheath. He could see what she was thinking - there might be only one way to prevent this attack. Cutting off the head of the snake. Claude would’ve preferred to keep waiting and get more intelligence, but both she and Dimitri were clearly not interested in delaying their revenge a moment longer. 

As they sprang out of the tree cover, Claude quickly scanned the clearing. The Flame Emperor was there, all right, holding that same Sword that Solon had stolen. Beside her… Arundel. _That_ was the familiar voice. He was also flanked by a score of the black-armored soldiers. The ‘Emperor’ only had one escort, a tall man with the mask of a skull and a wicked-looking scythe in hand. 

“Uncle… you’ve shown your true colors,” Dimitri snarled. “Any final words before I tear your head from your shoulders?” 

“I don’t have time for this.” Arundel glanced at the Flame Emperor. “Deal with them, if you please. I’ll continue preparations for the attack.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Dimitri charged right at his uncle, but the Emperor raised an enormous shield and stepped in his way. Dimitri laughed, actually _laughed,_ as he thrust his spear towards the new target. 

Felix caught Claude’s eye and gave a long-suffering sigh as he drew his sword. He stepped forward and sliced straight through the haft of an axe that one of the black-armored soldiers had raised towards the prince’s back. A couple of seconds slower, and Dimitri would have died, but the prince was oblivious to it all, his eyes locked on the Flame Emperor’s mask. 

The knight with the scythe didn’t fall in rank with the other soldiers. Instead, he prowled towards Byleth. 

“These children bore me. I challenge you,” he rasped from under the mask. “A dance of death, that only one can survive…” 

Byleth blinked once, but it was all the surprise she allowed herself before thrusting the tip of the rapier against the blade of the scythe. She didn’t say anything, but expertly dueled the knight, keeping him away from the students. 

Arundel made the sign for Warp magic, but nothing happened. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stomped his foot. Lystheia and Linhardt were thrown off their feet by a sudden, vicious earthquake, and their mutual binding faltered. A second later, Arundel was gone, but his spell kept going. Claude and Caspar barely pulled the two mages out in time - any slower, and they’d have been swallowed underground.

“Now _that_ was interesting,” Linhardt murmured.

“Interesting? You almost died!” Caspar shouted. 

“Yes, but at least I’d have been killed by an entirely new spell,” the mage said, with a dreamy smile. “ _Earth_ magic. I’ll have to see if it can be replicated...” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Caspar grumbled as he wiped dirt off Linhardt’s face, the gesture casually intimate. 

“Can you track him?” Claude asked Lystheia, once he was sure she hadn’t broken anything. 

“Yes, but it won’t do any good. He’s already wherever he wants to go.” She shook her head, clearly frustrated. “Practically speaking, this was our one chance, and we blew it.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up. You’ll be ready for him next time.” 

A sharp _crack_ made them all turn and stare. A blow from Dedue’s axe had split the Flame Emperor’s mask in two. And as it fell away from her face, the battle around them ground to a halt.

Edelgard. The Flame Emperor was Edelgard. Claude’s worst suspicions… they were true, all of them. 

“Why are you doing this?” he shouted. “What are you trying to accomplish?” 

He hadn’t expected an answer, so he was surprised when she regarded him coolly. “It is the only way. Perhaps you will understand in time.” 

Dimitri’s shoulders shook with more of his mad laughter. Then he stalked forward, weapon raised. “ _You_ … Is this some sort of twisted joke!?” 

Edelgard turned to him without flinching. nothing but resolve and defiance on her face. “Dimitri… I will only say this once more. The Tragedy was not my doing. If you-” 

“No more of your lies!” 

Claude could’ve told her it was futile, but her insistence on that point - for the second time - did interest him. Between this and the obviously tense conversation with Arundel, it was more evidence of some division between Edelgard and the mysterious group. The assassinations in Duscur - might they have been without her knowledge and approval? Wait, that was ridiculous. Of course they were! She’d only been a child. Presumably being held captive and experimented on by Arundel and his people.

And now she was working with those tormentors, saying it was 'the only way.' Why? Because they had too much power in the Empire? Claude doubted everything that had happened was entirely _their_ doing, though. He just couldn't see Edelgard in the role of obedient pawn. She'd have her own agenda. 

In the few seconds it took Claude to come to that conclusion, Dimitri had already cut her remaining guards down. He hurled his spear at her, but she deflected with her shield. Then Hubert was suddenly behind her… and before Dimitri could close the distance, he Warped both of them away. 

Sudden silence in the clearing. The knight with the scythe had retreated from his duel with Byleth at some point in the confusion. All the others lay dead. 

“Edelgard…” Byleth shook her head. “This is bad. They were talking about some sort of attack… We need to get back and inform Lady Rhea at once.” 

“Good. Let them come. Next time, I’ll break her neck,” Dimitri snarled. 

“Suggestion noted,” their teacher said drily. “Any wounded? No? Good. Get moving.” 

“Hurry up and get the boar into his cage,” Felix told Claude on the way. They were at the back of the line, but he made sure he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear him. “He’s blinder than ever. At this rate, he’s not going to survive the next battle.” 

Claude couldn’t disagree. Dimitri had demonstrated, time and time again, that he’d throw his own life away in his quest for vengeance… And that was _before_ his step-sister’s betrayal had left him even more unstable than ever. 

He sighed. He couldn’t save someone who refused to listen, and he had to focus his efforts on protecting those who would. 

* * *

Edelgard had been one step ahead of him, and now it was all over.

Not _immediately_ over, but it was a matter of time. There was only one road in and out of the monastery, and now the entire Imperial army blockaded that single road. The monastery was sturdy enough - and had food supplies enough - to withstand a short siege, but they couldn’t buy themselves enough time to survive. 

The Kingdom had bristled at the new Emperor’s declaration of war, but its army was too far from the monastery to rescue them in time. As for the Alliance… Claude figured Count Gloucester was already bargaining for the life of his son and integrity of his territory, in exchange for blocking House Riegan's forces from intervening. 

The Knights would fight to the death to defend Rhea, but the students didn’t deserve to be caught up in all this. But nobody could see any way to get them out safely. Enemy pegasii riders already dominated the sky, so even if they’d had sufficient numbers of flying horses or wyverns for a mass evacuation, it wouldn’t do them much good. 

If they couldn’t find an alternative, they’d all have to surrender. And what a coup that would be for Edelgard - with the heirs to both the Alliance and Kingdom in her custody, the war would practically be over before it had begun.

Of course, Dimitri didn’t seem inclined to be taken alive. Unlike all of the other times, his madness hadn’t subsided upon their return. He prowled (that was really the only word for it) through the training grounds at night, muttering under his breath, conversing with people who weren’t there. 

Claude tried to talk to him once - and only once. 

“Listen, you ought to get some sleep. If we do need to stand and fight…” 

“ _When_ we do, I’ll crush her skull,” Dimitri growled. “That’s all that matters.”

“Okay… And what about all of your Lions? Will they be throwing their lives away, too?” 

“I care not what they decide. Besides, I will be the one to face her - and no other.” 

“Talk about a one-track mind,” Claude muttered. 

Dimitri glared at him. “I’m not as stupid as you assumed, Claude. I know that you were only pretending to befriend me. Even that night on the tower… it was just one of your games.” 

It was uncomfortably close to the truth. At least, it had been true at first. At some point it had stopped being true, but the prince that stood in front of Claude wasn’t the person he’d been falling for. So Claude just shook his head, his words failing him, for once. 

“I loved her… but she betrayed me. And _you_ , you’ll betray me, too!” 

The rapid association of those two thoughts was the closest either of them had come to saying it. And perhaps it would be the closest they ever came. Claude wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , let himself keep feeling that way - not when Dimitri was like _this_. 

“Look… I’ll fight next to you to protect this place, our friends, everyone I… care about, but I’m _not_ dying for you in some idiotic quest for vengeance. You can’t ask me for that. If that’s a betrayal in your mind, so be it.” 

Dimitri just sneered and turned away from him. Claude left him to his pacing. 

The irrational accusations hurt, but it wasn’t the first time someone had turned on him. It wouldn’t be the last. Claude took the hurt and pushed it down with all the rest. He had plenty of people counting on him, and he wouldn’t let them down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-playing Blue Lions while writing this fic just reminds me how off the deep end even pre-timeskip Dimitri is lol


	12. Chapter 12

Jeritza had vanished along with Edelgard and Hubert, and subsequent investigation revealed he’d been the masked knight behind Flayn’s abduction (the “Death Knight,” as one student with a flair for the dramatic began calling him - it had quickly stuck). The rest of the Black Eagles professed total ignorance of Edelgard’s identity as the Flame Emperor and her plans. It seemed she’d played everything very close to the chest. 

Nonetheless, a handful of the class walked out of the monastery the following day, Dorothea and Petra among them. Whether they were going to join the invading army or simply wanted to return home wasn’t clear. Claude particularly regretted failing to spend more time talking to Petra - she’d been a glorified hostage, and might have been ripe for turning on her captors. (On the other hand... perhaps that dynamic had shifted now that her own classmate was the Emperor). 

The children of the Imperial nobility were in an interesting position. Apparently Edelgard had been preparing for her ascension to the throne for some time. Ferdinand and Bernadetta’s fathers were quickly stripped of their titles and imprisoned, along with other nobles who had fallen out of her favor. The bloc that supported her, led by Caspar and Linhardt’s fathers, were elevated to even higher prominence. 

Even Claude was a little surprised when that latter pair didn’t leave with the others. He inquired about it when he found both of them fishing at the pond (well, Linhardt was fishing, while Caspar had quickly lost patience and was glaring at the water). 

“My father’s used to disappointment,” Linhardt said vaguely. “I don’t agree with starting a war, so I won’t help them.” 

“And I’m not gonna turn on the Church and all my friends!” Caspar proclaimed. “Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is if my father’s commanding the invading army. You do _not_ want to face him in battle, believe me.” 

Ferdinand didn’t share their enthusiasm. Claude dragged him into the dining hall that night, but the noble picked at his food, his usual cheer replaced by a frown.

“I’ve been reading the manifesto she sent out,” Claude prompted. “It’s interesting, I’ll say that much. She doesn’t think small.” 

“I agree with her goals. The most qualified people should lead, regardless of their Crests or birth,” Ferdinand said. “And her actions back up her words. Truthfully, the nobles she has done away with were unworthy of their titles. Count Varley was a horrible man.” 

“But your own father…” 

“Much as it pains me to admit it, he was corrupt and greedy; everything wrong with the nobility at present. I intended to restore honor to the name ‘von Aegir’ when I assumed control of the house. But now…” He furrowed his brow and sighed. “Frankly, I am unsure of what I should do.” 

“Her goals are noble… but she’s not just reforming the Empire’s nobility. She’ll use this war to impose them on everyone,” Claude said. 

Ferdinand nodded. “The Kingdom will never abandon its support of the Church; her manifesto will fall on deaf ears, there. I suppose if she was unwilling to accept the Church at all, she had no other choice besides war, and yet…” 

“There’s a place for you in the Alliance, should you want it,” Claude ventured. That was, of course, the whole point of this conversation, but he needed to be careful. “Lorenz has spoken very highly of you, and I could use someone with your talents.” 

Ferdinand frowned. “I do not agree with Edelgard starting this war, but still, I do not wish to fight against my country.” 

“I don’t wish for that either,” Claude said. “You were honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you: the Alliance can’t survive an open war with the Empire. We don’t have the Kingdom’s natural defenses to rely on, and our army is much too small. Any invasion force would be in Deirdru within the month.”

“What, then, are your intentions?”

“Neutrality. Let the Kingdom fight for the Church - we have no such obligation. If Edelgard doesn’t attack us, we won’t help her enemies.” 

Ferdinand nodded. “Very well - I can agree with that. I will make every effort to help you maintain peace between our countries.” 

In truth, Claude reflected, after he’d shaken Ferdinand’s hand and departed, neutrality was his only practical course due to the strength of the Gloucester faction. It would also give him time to develop relations with Almyra - if he could convince his father to lend him troops, it might be the trump card that turned the tide of the war in his favor. But for the moment, it had the benefit of making him look principled and high-minded, and that was what had convinced von Aegir. 

Now he just needed his act to convince Edelgard. 

* * *

The road was blocked, the skies were patrolled. But in time, Claude remembered the underground tunnel network. One of those unmapped routes might go all the way out into the mountains. It was a slim chance, but investigating was better than just giving up. 

He invited the clearly restless Byleth to join him for two reasons. She was pretty damn good in a fight, but more importantly, she was one of the only people who might be able to give him some insight into what Rhea was thinking. 

“You’re wasting your time,” she told him, once they were underground and Claude had started to work his way towards the real questions. “I have no idea what she’s thinking. She’s locked herself away in her room, and my mother is one of the only people who can see her.” 

“Really? I mean, this is a pretty dicey situation, but Rhea doesn’t seem like the type to break under pressure.” 

“It’s not the invasion. If I had to guess… it’s them stealing that sword. She hasn’t been the same since that night,” Byleth said. “And when we fought them but came back without it, she got worse.” 

“This sword that was hidden away in the monastery for who knows how many hundreds of years, that we know nothing about, and that only your mother can use.” Claude eyed her, wondering if she was holding something back. She’d always been direct (some would say _blunt_ ), so he didn’t think so, but he was clearly missing something.

Byleth shrugged. “If mother knows about it, she’s not going to tell me. Rhea treats mother like her own daughter. She’ll never betray that trust.” 

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way to Abyss. It was a bizarre little community - most of its residents seemed to have no choice but to be here, but now that they _were_ there, the Church largely left them to their own devices. 

“If there’s anyone who can help you, it’s Yuri,” Byleth explained in a low voice. “He runs a gang down here, but also works directly for Rhea.” 

A lighter sentence in exchange for spying was Claude’s guess. He’d done a little digging ahead of time. It was one of the only recorded instances of Rhea _not_ executing a person credibly accused of murder. 

They found him in a weird facsimile of a classroom which someone had gone to great pains setting up. He was in conversation with a middle-aged monk with an unfortunate hairstyle. Byleth’s face instantly twisted into a scowl at the sight of him.

“Ah,” the monk said. “It is good to see you again. How is-” 

“You don’t get to ask me that, Aelfric. And get out. We need the room.” Byleth glared at the monk until he got the hint and scurried away.

“Oh, there’s a story there,” Claude said. “And I do love uncovering stories.” 

“You could always trade me for it… if you figure out the right coin to buy it with,” Yuri drawled. He looked about Claude’s age, and held himself like a noble, but something about it already felt wrong. Too forced, trying too hard. 

_He’ll be an interesting one_. 

“We don’t have time for you two to preen about how clever you are,” Byleth grumbled. “Look… we need your help.” 

“Way ahead of you,” Yuri smirked. “It’s obvious that you need a way out. I’ve already put all my people on it. The rest of the Ashen Wolves, too.” 

“Fancy name - your ‘class,’ I assume?” Claude looked around the room. It really did mirror the ones aboveground, albeit much shabbier. 

“That’s what Aelfric says. We might be criminals, but the young ones here can still use an education. Or something like that.” 

“Are you sure you don’t _already_ know a way out?” Byleth narrowed her eyes. 

Yuri put a hand over his chest. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but alas, no. You know that most of these people wouldn’t still be here if we could come and go as we pleased, without permission from the Church.” 

“And you’re just gonna help us out of the goodness of your heart?” Claude asked.

“It’s true that life would barely change for us, no matter who wins your war on the surface. But, believe it or not, I genuinely don’t want any harm to befall Rhea.” Yuri struck Claude as someone who could lie very smoothly if he wanted to, but the statement had the appearance of truth, at least. 

“Very generous of you,” Byleth said. “Well, I’m sure you don’t need us stumbling around in the dark and getting in your way. You know how to reach me if you do find something?” 

“Yep. I’ll be in touch. Good luck up there.” Yuri offered them an ironic salute on their way out. 

“I don’t want you digging into Aelfric,” Byleth announced as soon as she and Claude were out of Abyss and walking back towards the surface. “It’ll just upset my mother.” 

“Is this you volunteering the information so that I’ll be satisfied? That only works if you tell the full story, you know.” 

She scowled at him. “It’s not the grand secret you think it is. Just a pathetic little man who was obsessed with my mother. After she married my father, Rhea transferred him down here - exile, practically speaking, though he officially runs the place for her.” 

“That isn’t all that interesting,” Claude admitted. “Too common, but not interesting. Sure, I’ll leave it as-is.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Instead, let’s talk about why Rhea feels the need to employ a known murderer as her personal spy. I’m sure you overheard _something_ that might give me-” 

Byleth groaned and started to walk faster just to get away from him. Claude smirked. 

* * *

Edelgard formally requested Rhea’s surrender, and the Archbishop called the two remaining House leaders to a conference with her Knights to discuss it. 

Claude studied the letter with some interest - any insight into his enemy’s state of mind was worth it. The terms were light, considering her overwhelming military might. Everyone was free to go except for Dimitri, Claude, and Rhea herself, who would all be taken as ‘guests’ to Enbarr.

It would’ve been a neat, bloodless end to the war before it began. Of course, it was also impossible. Was Edelgard simply trying to appear fair and just to the history books, or did she really want to avoid needless death? 

He passed the letter back to Seteth, who folded it neatly, a compulsive gesture. “What are your thoughts?” 

“She won’t wait long for our refusal. She’ll want to capture the monastery and strike the decisive blow as quickly as possible.” 

“I agree.” Seteth glanced at his superior, but Rhea was _almost_ as silent and brooding as Dimitri. Claude didn’t like the look on _either_ of their faces. 

“Byleth told me of your visit to Abyss,” Seteth continued. “Frankly, we’re completely outnumbered. All we can accomplish by fighting is buying time for the civilians to escape. If Yuri can’t find a way out through the tunnels…” 

“He will,” Rhea interrupted. “The goddess is with us. And... I have come to a decision. I will lead the defense of the monastery personally.” 

Seteth blanched. “Are you sure that’s the wisest course? We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Should anything happen to me, Sitri Eisner will be the next Archbishop.” 

Claude stared at Rhea with unabashed interest. A simple monk - not one of those hidden Cardinals, or even Seteth himself. He could only think of one explanation for it, and hey, their backs were to the wall. There wasn’t much downside to confronting her directly.

“Because she can use that sword?” he asked. 

Rhea looked at him in silence for a long time before she inclined her head. “It is called the Sword of the Creator. Like the other Relics, it was granted to humanity by the goddess herself, but its associated Crest has been lost, and so the Church keeps it. Sitri’s connection to it… is a direct sign of the goddess’ favor. That is why she is the right choice.” 

_Goddess’ favor… yeah, right. I know how those weapons actually work. This is about that missing Crest Stone._ ‘Arundel’ clearly thought it was right here in the monastery. The Sword’s reaction must mean that Sitri had the Stone in her possession - and had been entrusted as its keeper by Rhea. 

And if the Crest itself had been lost, Rhea was certainly trying to bring it back - that explained the arranged marriage, the potential “new” Crest that Hanneman’s device found in Byleth’s blood. Then, with both Crest and Crest Stone, the Sword would be at its full power again, a useful weapon for the Church. 

But how, exactly, had Rhea known all this? Hanneman’s device was a recent invention. Before that, only noble families charted their Crests. The idea that she’d simply gotten lucky with a commoner like Sitri beggared belief. Was the Church hiding secrets of Crest analysis from even its own top Crest researcher? 

There was something else, some missing piece of the puzzle, that still eluded Claude. But… perhaps it didn’t matter. If Yuri’s people couldn’t find them a way out, Rhea would soon be taking all of her secrets to a mass grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably just one post this week - I was out of town all weekend.
> 
> The game doesn't necessarily do the best job of diving into why transfer students don't just re-join their faction for the *actual war*, so have some Claude winning Ferdinand over.


	13. Chapter 13

Claude was no stranger to battle. Almyran royalty did not lead armies from behind, and even a prince who had yet to come of age was expected to come along. He’d been exposed to death and battle as soon as he could mount his own wyvern. 

There was a difference between those skirmishes and this siege, though. Back there, every man and woman in the army knew they could break off and fly away if things went wrong. This… was like a rat caught in a trap. Nowhere to go, and death was inevitable. 

His wound still hampered him, so he’d taken position in the back lines, commanding one of the ballista crews. From that elevated position, he could see the whole battle - and just how poorly it was going for them. 

Conventional wisdom, the kind in their tactics manuals at the Academy, said the attacking army needed to be three times as large as the defenders’ for a siege to succeed. Not a problem for Edelgard, because her forces had them at least ten to one. This was going to be a _very_ short siege. 

The familiar screech of a wyvern overhead, a rush of flapping wings. Seteth landed smoothly behind the ballista. There was blood all over his armor and spear, but his expression was (by Seteth standards) overjoyed.

“Yuri has found a way out! The monks and students are already on their way to safety.” 

Claude’s heart leapt. Maybe this wouldn’t be a suicidal last stand after all. “So… a fighting retreat?” 

“Just so. Please direct your fire to cover us as we pull back.” And he took to the air again, off to give instructions to the next emplacement. 

The students who’d chosen to fight were the first to retreat. Claude scanned them anxiously, confirming that each Deer had made it out. He noticed minor injuries, but thank the gods, nothing too serious. Lorenz, on the back of a particularly well-groomed horse, called up to him.

“Not to worry, Claude! I am an excellent commander.” 

“Sure you are,” Claude muttered, but couldn’t help smiling. Lorenz had gotten them all out safely, and that was what mattered. 

Linhardt, Caspar, and Ferdinand passed through next, none of them hurt. The Lions came last, only a couple steps ahead of the Knights that guarded their retreat. Claude noted Ashe, Ingrid, Mercedes, and Annette… but the other half of their class was nowhere to be seen. 

Where was Dimitri? He’d not be inclined to retreat, not when Edelgard was leading the attack personally. Still, trying to fight his way towards her in all this madness would be certain death… had he taken Dedue, Sylvain, and Felix with him on his suicidal quest? 

Claude had ordered his ballista crew to join the retreat when he finally saw them. He hopped down and jogged towards them. Dimitri looked _awful_ , covered in so much blood that it wasn’t even possible to tell how much was his and how much was his enemies’. It had taken three of them to drag him back this far, and he was fighting every step of the way.

“She’s still out there! She must not be allowed to draw one more breath!”

“If you go back out there, you’re the one who’ll die!” Sylvain said. 

“Your Highness, please listen to him,” Dedue urged. He was taking the brunt of Dimitri’s efforts to pull free, but held on gamely. Claude blinked when he realized there were fist-shaped _dents_ in his armor. 

It was obvious that His Highness would not be listening to any of them. His gaze passed over Claude without a flicker of recognition, either. There was nothing in his eyes but the hatred of an animal. 

Sylvain sighed heavily and removed one of his gauntlets. His hand glowed with White Magic as he grabbed Dimitri’s head. Claude didn’t recognize the spell, but felt the rush of power. The prince stopped struggling suddenly and pitched forward into Dedue’s waiting arms. A crude sort of Sleep magic. 

Sylvain glared over at Felix, who turned pointedly away instead of meeting his friend’s gaze. Claude remembered the last time he’d spoken with Felix. His father, White Magic, and the unspoken duties of his House. 

“You guys are the last. We need to go, now,” he said. 

When they reached the gate of the monastery itself, Claude swore. A stone from one of the Empire’s onagers had hit in exactly the wrong place and smashed the mechanism for closing it. They might have gotten everyone inside, but without that gate, they’d just herded themselves into another deathtrap. 

Rhea stood alone at the broken gate, regarding it calmly. When she noticed them, she offered them a faint smile. 

“The way out is within the Tomb of the Goddess. Go, quickly.”

“What about you?” Claude didn’t particularly care what happened to the Archbishop - he was more interested in how, exactly, she intended to hold off an entire army all by herself. 

“I will be fine.” Her tone was so firm and final that even Claude didn’t try to ask anything else. 

He only looked back once. Rhea was still standing there, but glowing with such an intense light that he had to avert his eyes at once.

As they slammed the doors to the Tomb closed behind them, they could hear a roar - like that of a great animal, but louder and deeper than any Claude had ever seen. Then all they could hear were men and women screaming. 

* * *

Yuri was preening himself next to the tunnel out, because of course he was. He raised an eyebrow at the unconscious Dimitri, but waved the four Lions in without comment. 

“Where’s the Archbishop?” he asked Claude.

“Stayed behind to hold them off. By herself. So she’s captured in the best case, dead in the worst.” 

Yuri sighed, but whatever he was thinking - sincere despair at the loss of a friend? Dismay at the loss of the leader of the Church he believed in? Or simply annoyance at needing a new employer? - didn’t show on his face. 

“Tell me about the tunnel,” Claude said, examining it with great interest. The stonework of the entrance was damned old - it seemed like it could easily have been here for as long as Garreg Mach itself. 

Yuri shot him a sidelong glance, and Claude kicked himself. He probably _should_ have pretended to be more upset about Rhea. She’d been an obstacle, and he’d never believed in her goddess, but he’d need to act more like one of the faithful if he wanted to use them in the future. The battle had left him too exhausted to consider all of his words carefully, but that couldn’t happen again.

“I found it myself,” Yuri said. “My people despaired of finding anything in the tunnels. Then I asked myself: where’s the one place we never looked? The Tomb, of course. Few people are ever allowed in here - making it the perfect location.” 

They stepped inside, and Yuri pulled a lever to close the entrance behind them. The wall slid back into place smoothly. Hopefully it would look seamless enough to give them enough time.

“That was good work,” Claude said as they walked down the tunnel. Magic lights were placed in the walls at intervals, not enough to really brighten the place up, but enough that they didn’t trip over their own feet. “Want a job?”

Yuri laughed. “Didn’t think you’d just come out and say it like that.”

“Normally, no, but why insult your intelligence? You know the situation as well as I. The Empire versus the rest of us, and the rest of us need to get our act together quickly.” 

“And ‘the rest of us’ will be the Duke of the Alliance, hmm? Or perhaps he wants to become a king. War presents opportunities.” 

Claude shrugged. “None of us will be alive long enough to squabble over what comes after if we don’t work together.” 

Yuri clicked his tongue. “Easier said than done. You’ll need both the Knights and the Kingdom to even match her forces. But the Knights will be honor-bound to search for Rhea, and the soon-to-be-king… doesn’t seem too amendable.”

“So you can see why I need good people.” 

“I’ll think about it. I know where to find you.” 

Claude knew it was the best he’d get, and besides, they’d caught up to the rest of the group. He pushed ahead until he stood at the front of the line. Seteth had taken the lead and marched at a brisk pace, Flayn at his side. 

“We closed up behind us,” Claude said. “But I have bad news. Rhea stayed behind to cover us.” _This_ time his voice and face showed the appropriate sadness. 

“This is exactly what I feared. The Knights and I will return here after the fighting and search for any trace of her,” Seteth said. 

Claude had expected that, even before Yuri’s prediction. “I would offer the Alliance’s assistance, but I fear we’ll need to devote all our resources to combating the Empire’s invasion.” 

“Our goals may align... but this is not the time to discuss such things. First, we must get everyone to safety.” And that was that; Claude knew better than to keep pushing someone with Seteth’s legendary stubbornness.

They walked for at least a couple more hours - it was difficult to keep track of time down here - before reaching the tunnel’s exit. The sun was just starting to rise, bathing the red clay walls of the canyon. Claude had heard of this place - one of the Black Eagles’ missions had been to clear some bandits out of here.

“Zanado,” Seteth whispered beside him. Claude looked at him with sudden interest - he’d never heard the man sound like _that_. 

Seteth stepped out of the tunnel in a daze, putting a hand up on one of the canyon walls. “I never wanted to see this place again,” he said in a broken voice. His shoulders shook as he began… crying?

 _What is he_ talking _about? What happened here?_

Flayn stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “ _Brother_ ,” she said, with an odd note of emphasis. “I share your pain. But we cannot afford to stop and mourn. We must keep moving.” 

Seteth wiped an arm over his eyes. “Ah… yes, of course, Flayn.” He squared his shoulders and marched ahead. He didn’t look back at Claude, and nobody else had been close enough to overhear. 

“I know your love of secrets,” Flayn said. The solemn expression on her face seemed much older than its youthful features. “But please, do not ask us for this one.”

Claude nodded, letting her catch up to her brother. They were hiding something, the pair of them, and one day he would find out what it was. His curiosity aside, he _needed_ Seteth and the Knights. But he wasn’t a monster. For the moment, at least, he could afford to leave them to their quiet grieving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone out there is OK. On the bright side I just got a lot more time to stay in and write...


	14. Chapter 14

Claude’s grandfather died just a few weeks after the fall of Garreg Mach, leaving him to assume control of House Riegan at a critical time. The first roundtable conference since the Empire declared war on the Church was ongoing. The other lords would be eager to take the measure of the new Duke, probing him for any blind spots or vulnerabilities. 

Holst Goneril, bored stiff by politics at the best of times, sent Hilda in his place. Their houses were already close allies, and Claude’s friendship with her was just a bonus. She was accompanied by a bodyguard, Balthus, who’d been in Holst’s class at the Academy, but had fallen into disgrace. He’d actually been confined to Abyss until the fall of the monastery made such things pointless. 

Balthus made Claude uneasy. He talked too much and owed a lot of people a lot of money, which left him vulnerable to power plays. Worst of all, he’d known Claude’s mother - which might give Claude’s enemies ideas. 

Obviously, House Gloucester would be in direct opposition to almost anything he proposed, on general principle, but Claude had leverage over Lorenz, a trump card he could activate for critical matters. Even as the Count droned on through a speech about the Empire’s generous offer of friendship, he met Lorenz’s gaze and winked at him. 

Lorenz’s personal guard included both Raphael and Ignatz, freshly knighted. Someone who didn’t actually know Rapahel might have suspected the first step in a long-game assassination of the Count. Gloucester must not have even realized the identity of his new knight. Ignatz’s association was much easier to fathom. Lorenz would be tickled by one of his knights also being a skilled painter. Claude just hoped for Ignatz’ sake that the job didn’t require _too_ many portraits of Lorenz himself. 

House Ordelia’s representative was Lystheia - their sole heir thanks to those brutal experiments. She might be a classmate and friend, but she wouldn’t be eager to commit to a fight against the Empire - not when what was left of Ordelia would be the first victims of the war.

The existing dynamics left House Edmund as the deciding vote. The Margrave was a canny politician, and would look to take full advantage of his position - he’d been doing it for years. Marianne accompanied him, letting her adopted father do all the talking as she listened and took careful notes. 

Claude repeated what he’d told Ferdinand, though with much less noble sentiment and much more practicality. “We’re finished if it comes to open war. But we also need to preserve the independence of the Alliance. If any of you think that if we make friends with the Empire, Edelgard will just leave us out of her sweeping plans for all Fodlan… Well. You don’t know her like I do.” 

Count Gloucester didn’t fail to catch the implied insult, and launched into another speech. Just when Claude thought he might actually fall asleep, a messenger burst through the door, letter in hand. Interruptions were _very_ much frowned on, but she’d talked her way past all of the guards. This was something of vital importance. 

Claude took the letter first, his stomach dropping at the seal - the Kingdom’s emblem. He broke it and read the message out loud. 

“Prince Dimitri… is dead. Found guilty of murdering the Kingdom’s regent and his uncle, the Duke Regent. He was executed by order of the new crown prince… a bastard son of Duke Blaiddyd. And this is signed by the _new_ regent, Duchess Cornelia Arnim.” 

“A transparent falsehood to justify her coup,” Lorenz said contemptuously. “What do we know about her?” 

“She was born in the Empire. It’s obvious who’s behind this,” Edmund said. 

Claude let conversation flow around him. Dimitri, dead… If so, they’d never even said goodbye. The prince was still subdued by the sleeping spell when the students broke apart and returned to their respective homelands. Sylvain and Felix promised to get him home safely… But none of them had realized they’d been delivering Dimitri into a trap.

Or perhaps he wasn’t dead. Maybe Cornelia was lying about that too. 

Claude dismissed this quickly. False hope would only slow him down.

Part of him wanted to break the meeting and retire to grieve. Dimitri had been a friend - or maybe something even more. But he dismissed _that_ just as quickly. The other nobles would see it for what it was: a sign of weakness. Duke Riegan of the Alliance should be focused on the strategic implications, not the death of the man. 

So he waved for silence. His voice was steady, his face blank. “Obviously, this limits our options. If we’d entered into an alliance with the Kingdom and the Knights of Seiros, we _might_ have equalled the Empire’s military might. Good thing we didn’t. As it is… neutrality is our only course.”

“Inaction isn’t a plan. The Emperor will swallow up what’s left of the Kingdom's loyalists, and turn her attention to us, next,” Edmund said.

“Houses Gautier, Fraldarius, and Galatea all have Heroes’ Relics, and we _know_ they won’t accept this coup. They’ll hold out, and buy us the time we need to come up with a better plan.” 

_An alliance with Almyra. It’s our only option._ But even if he could somehow convince Holst to open the Throat… would the others accept it? History was littered with men who had gone to early graves by refusing to adapt. 

As the conference broke apart, Claude was already composing a letter to Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid in his head. Covert support - supplies and intelligence. Their Houses needed to keep fighting as long as possible, buy him as much time as they could. 

He didn’t let himself think about Dimitri. 

* * *

A year passed. The fragile status quo held. Even with the coup, Edelgard’s troops encountered fierce resistance from the western and eastern lords of the Kingdom alike. She focused her efforts on the west, prying them away with diplomacy and threats. It was a slow process... but the Empire’s progress on its invasion was slower. Arianrhod was a tough nut to crack. It might hold out for another year or two.

Still, while it might take years, the Imperial armies would eventually make it all the way to the Kingdom’s capital, link up with the usurper Cornelia, and overwhelm the eastern holdouts with sheer force of numbers. Then, the Alliance would be next. Or… worse yet… they’d invade the Alliance as a staging ground for a two-pronged assault. 

Claude needed to act before that happened. But his relationship with his royal father was a complicated affair. Almyran kings threw their offspring into the deep end and waited for them to swim before recognizing them. The fact that his mother was queen meant nothing; any child of a concubine could pull off a more impressive feat and earn the king's favor. Holding the Alliance together was an accomplishment, but not the type that would impress Almyrans. The king wanted to see a great military victory… or the offer of great rewards. 

Help came from an unexpected quarter when Seteth visited him, accompanied by an honor guard of Knights. Byleth had been named their captain, and Leonie was their latest recruit. Claude greeted his former classmate and teacher warmly, but everyone was too grim for it to be a happy occasion.

Seteth moved through the pleasantries with tight lips. He only opened up when Claude agreed to a private audience in his chambers.

“I heard you’ve been making a grand circuit of the churches. I’m sure the faithful find your presence comforting.” They might find their actual interim Archbishop more comforting, but Seteth had spirited her away, doubtless to protect her from Imperial troops. 

“I am doing what little I can to reassure them. But my visit here has another purpose. The situation in Fodlan at present is untenable. With the death of Prince Dimitri, I fear the Empire’s victory is only a matter of time.” 

Claude’s stomach lurched - even though it had been a full year, and he should really go ahead and get used to the idea. He ignored it, and frowned at Seteth. “The Knights might turn the tide if they entered the war.” 

“I’ve considered it, but our first duty is to protect Lady Rhea, and her whereabouts are still unknown.” 

“Isn’t it most likely that the Empire killed or captured her? Why else would you have heard nothing from her in a whole year?” 

Seteth pursed his lips. “There are… factors you are unaware of. She may be hiding elsewhere, and unable to get word to us.” He seemed to sense Claude’s impending barrage of questions, and lifted a hand. “If she _has_ been taken prisoner, why didn’t the Empire announce it? Why keep it a secret?” 

Claude had been thinking about _that_ plenty, and answered quickly. “Edelgard can’t trust her own allies. ‘Arundel’ and his masked soldiers… forgive me, but if they wanted Flayn’s blood, I shudder to think what they’d do with Rhea’s.” 

Seteth gave him a sharp look. Claude knew immediately that he’d put his finger on something. This was more than the Crests; there was some other connection between the three of them. 

“You may be right.” 

“But you won’t take my word for it and stop looking.” 

“I cannot. But I do have a suggestion,” Seteth said. “There are legends of the lost sacred weapons - not Heroes’ Relics, but just as ancient and almost as potent. The Church has long collected such lore. I’ve brought copies of the accounts for you.”

“What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” Claude asked with a grin. 

“... Their keepers are said to be terrible monsters who devour any who dare ask for the weapon. But some accounts differ, and say the beasts have great intelligence. It may be worth explaining your plight and seeing what results.”

Killing great monsters (or bargaining with them) and securing sacred weapons… Now _that_ was the sort of accomplishment that might make his father take notice. Claude nodded. “Sure. I’ll look into it.” 

* * *

Two years passed before Seteth returned to Deirdru. Claude amused himself by opening their private audience with a dramatic flourish. The sacred bow and sword were hanging on his wall, and the first thing Seteth saw when he entered the room. 

“I see my faith in you was not misplaced,” Seteth said as he settled into a chair in front of Claude’s desk. “How did you convince the guardians?” 

“Oh, we fought them until they recognized our worth. Like something out of the old tales.” In truth, both battles had been harrowing, and Claude was fortunate that he’d brought his old classmates, and Yuri’s Wolves, along for each trip. Without their backup, he’d probably be dead. 

“Mmm… I’d hoped they would be more agreeable,” Seteth murmured. 

“The ‘Wind Caller’ wasn’t too cooperative. Mostly annoyed that we disturbed his nap; he went back to sleep right after telling us where the sword was. But ‘the Immovable’... well, he was positively talkative.”

“Oh?”

“Asked if you sent us. By name.” 

Seteth blanched. “I… see.” 

Claude leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment. “I’ve had a couple years to put the pieces together. Tell me if I’m on the right track. That bow he gave us has the Crest of Indech set on it… kind of like that spear of yours with the emblem of Cichol. The bow certainly matches the one Indech wielded in the legends. Blessed to never run out of arrows - well, I suppose we won’t know if it’s truly ‘Inexhaustible,’ but it’s looked that way so far.” 

“The sacred weapons were said to be wielded by the Saints, yes. I suppose the creature heard that Cichol’s weapon has been passed down through the Church to me.” 

“Maybe. But ‘the Immovable’ spoke of being over a thousand years old, and ‘the Wind Caller’ _smelled_ my Crest. Told me that he’d fought _the_ Riegan a long time ago.” Claude smirked. “I don’t think they were just random monsters - I think they _are_ the Saints Indech and Macuil. Which means the other two Saints might still live…” 

“That’s an… interesting theory,” Seteth said, face as blank as Claude’s own best efforts to conceal his thoughts.

“Your comment about Rhea being alive but beyond our reach never made sense… until I saw how the Wind Caller had just been sleeping for the better part of a thousand years. If Rhea is the same as them, she could be asleep somewhere, even now. And it lines up - I heard the roar of a great best when she covered our escape.” 

Claude almost laughed at how committed Seteth was to not giving him an inch, just staring at him in silence now. He lifted his hands. “Look, I’m not asking you to tell me _everything_. But if I’m on the right track, we could really use you - and Flayn.” 

“No. Not Flayn,” Seteth said immediately. 

“She’s a skilled healer. Perhaps as skilled as the legendary Saint Cethleann. She could save many lives,” Claude said. Sincerity was his best weapon now. “I wouldn’t ask her to go anywhere near the fighting.” 

“... I need time to consider this. And to ask my _sister_ what she would like to do.”

“I can give you a year. If you accept, meet me at Garreg Mach during the Millennium Festival. Bring the Knights - and that spear.” 

Seteth blinked at him. “Why would you return there? It is a ruin.” 

“Ruins can be repaired. Especially when one intends to make a statement to the faithful. And besides...” Claude grinned. “We’ve got a class reunion - and I don’t intend to miss it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've skipped right ahead to Garreg Mach but I like politics too much for that. And I figured those two Paralogues could logically take place during the 5 years of relative downtime.


	15. Chapter 15

The nobles weren’t happy when Claude announced he would be leaving to attend a class reunion, of all things. The Empire had swallowed up all of the western Kingdom in the intervening years. Their inevitable defeat of Fraldarius and Gautier would soon follow - perhaps in another few months. Then Edelgard would turn her attention to the Alliance… 

On the other hand... there was really nothing he could do right now, except wait. His efforts to out-maneuver the rest of the family and gain his father's ear had finally paid off; Nader was on the way with a sizable force. And there was the matter of Seteth and the Knights. The potential benefit of getting _them_ on his side outweighed the risks. 

He’d seen most of his old classmates plenty over those years - the nobles at the Alliance meetings, Ignatz and Raphael in Lorenz’s entourage - but there was a different tone as they set out for Garreg Mach. For just a moment, they could forget their troubles, swapping stories about their school days.

At least until someone asked about Professor Hanneman. Claude knew from his intelligence that the man was working for the Empire now, Edelgard’s vision apparently resonating with the researcher’s efforts for a Crestless society. Reality intruded harshly on their chatter - this would be a partial class reunion, still mired by the war. 

Their mood wasn’t improved by their first sight of Garreg Mach. The surrounding town was deserted, homes and shops alike dusty with lack of use. The monastery itself was half a ruin; the walls had taken so much damage during the siege. Small wonder that Edelgard had not occupied it - it would take significant effort to repair. Plus, Claude recognized the value of the symbolism: here lies the heart of the Church, shattered and abandoned. 

When they rode onto the bridge, they saw a lone knight in black armor blocking their path. At the sight of them, the knight pulled off his helmet and waved a lazy salute. 

“You’re late.” 

Sylvain’s grin felt even falser than it had when they were kids. The bags under his eyes and weariness of his posture told the truth of things.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. I should have written,” Claude said, as he fell in beside them.

“Nah. I _shouldn’t_ have come. Cornelia’s troops are right on our borders. My father’s furious, but…” Sylvain shrugged. “A kingdom without a king? What are we even fighting for? We won’t last much longer if you keep sitting on your hands, Claude.” 

The bitterness flowed through the grin, the mask cracking. Claude shook his head. “That’s part of why I’m here. If I can get the Knights on our side…” 

“You can finally make a move. Once it’s _safe_. After letting us fight and die for five years.”

“I won't apologize for protecting the Alliance, Sylvain.” 

“I don’t expect you to. Just stop acting like we’re friends. The Kingdom was your pawn.” He spurred ahead before Claude could protest, riding alone at the front of the group. 

“Wow. What’s eating him?” Hilda, of course, had shamelessly eavesdropped on the entire conversation. 

“He isn’t exactly wrong. I was using them, all along.” 

“But they’re _not_ your responsibility. It’s not your fault Dimitri was killed,” she said. As usual, she cut right through to the real heart of it. It was part of why she’d become a surprisingly reliable advisor over the past five years. 

Claude didn’t _say_ any of that, of course. He just gave her a grateful nod. She understood. 

As they all dismounted and led their horses to the abandoned stables, Ignatz screwed up his nose. “I smell something…” 

“Fresh corpse,” Sylvain said, in a tone of voice that warned against asking how exactly he could identify the stench so quickly. “Nothing else smells like _that_.”

They found the culprit quickly: a soldier in an Imperial uniform. It was hard to tell what exactly had killed him… because he’d been pierced in a dozen places, struck over the head and neck with some hard object, and something had broken all of his ribs for good measure. 

“Goddess,” Marianne mumbled. Not quite a swear, not quite a prayer. 

“This place isn’t as abandoned as we thought… We need to search it thoroughly. But I want you in pairs. We don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Claude said. 

Sylvain scoffed and ignored him, walking off alone. Hilda followed him at a respectful distance, not needing to wait for Claude’s order. Ignatz and Raphael set off for the dormitories, while Lorenz and Marianne started with the old classrooms. Linhardt muttered something about the library and left with Caspar. 

Claude headed for the goddess tower, which was relatively intact. Once at the top, his high vantage point might enable him to spot something useful. 

The stairs were littered with more corpses, each one killed as excessively as the last. Some were as fresh as the one they’d spotted in the stables, while others were practically skeletal. Their killer hadn’t bothered moving them or cleaning up any of the blood. The old stones were stained red with it. 

Claude knew he should double back for the others, follow his own cautious advice, but he kept walking. 

The sun had just started to rise, bathing the top of the goddess tower in the first light of dawn. Enough for Claude to see… something. A man, hunched in the corner. Black armor, a fur cloak stained red. This was their mysterious killer, then. 

The man lifted his face to look at Claude. “I should have known that one day, you’d be haunting me, too.” 

_Dimitri._ To say he’d had a hard time of it was an understatement. One eye was gone, covered by a rough patch. His hair was long and unkempt, like it hadn’t thought about a pair of scissors in five years, but somehow, against all odds, he was _alive_. 

“Haunting? You’re the ghost, my friend. Everyone thinks you’re dead.” 

“Not yet,” Dimitri muttered. “I cannot, until I bring you _that woman_ ’s head. But I will join you all soon.” 

“Hey… buddy, I’m here. It’s actually me.” Claude stepped forward, thought better about actually touching him. 

Dimitri scoffed, rubbing at his remaining eye. When Claude didn’t disappear, he inhaled sharply. “Claude… is that really you?” 

“In the flesh. And I’m not alone. We’re all here for the big reunion. Just… come down, and we can start working out what happened.” 

“I know what happened! I was betrayed! _That woman_ turned the whole Kingdom against me. It almost worked… but she didn’t count on Dedue,” he said. He stood, swaying unsteadily, digging his lance into the stonework for support. 

“Dedue, that’s how you…” 

“He broke me out. Stayed to cover my escape. They killed him,” Dimitri snarled. “Another crime _she_ will answer for.” 

Damn. Losing Dedue had obviously been the final straw for the prince’s sanity. He _should_ have gone over to what was left of his Kingdom and mounted an opposing claim - backed by the most powerful eastern houses, it would’ve cast plenty of doubt on Cornelia’s legitimacy, given the western lords pause. 

Instead, he’d abandoned his homeland. And Claude had a sinking feeling that he knew the reason why. 

“You’re just stopping here on your way south, aren’t you.” 

Dimitri nodded. “They say _she_ is in Enbarr... so that is where I will kill her.” 

“Going by yourself, it’s suicide. Even you can’t fight an army alone.” 

“I am already dead. But I will take _her_ with me, no matter the cost.” 

Claude sighed. “Listen… it’s not as hopeless as all that. Half the Kingdom managed to hold out, even though it’s been five years. With the Alliance and, hopefully, the Knights of Seiros, we can start fighting back. Together.”

Dimitri sneered at him. “Always plotting. Fine. If you wish to follow me south, you may. Gather your army… But I will not wait long.” 

“Right,” Claude muttered, watching Dimitri stomp past him and down the tower stairs. All the hope that he’d felt when he saw the man was still alive quickly dissipated. Dimitri was half-mad, and hardly seemed interested in rallying the Kingdom to their cause.

And they way he’d spoken… like he had no attachment to any of them, even Claude. 

Claude had spent five years hardening his heart, knowing Dimitri was dead. This - him being alive, but not even caring that Claude was - was much worse. 

The rest of the Deer were at the base of the tower by the time he descended, looking varying degrees of shocked or scared.

“Did we just… Is he really…” Ignatz stammered.

“Looks like it,” Claude sighed. “Where’d he go?” 

“He just grunted something about clearing out the trash and stalked right past us,” Hilda said. “I guess the monastery got taken over by some thieves?” 

Claude groaned, suddenly wishing Felix was there, just so they could share more knowing looks. “Well… he might have a death wish, but we need him. Can you all go make sure he doesn’t get himself killed?” 

Once Hilda led them away, Claude turned to Sylvain. The other man was uncharacteristically silent, and looked like he’d seen a ghost. In a way, Claude supposed he had. 

“Can you ride back north? Inform your father and Duke Fraldarius?” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain muttered. “Guess I’d better do that.” 

“I’ll keep him from running off to fight the Empire alone, no matter what it takes. You have my word. But… I’m not sure how long we can keep him here.” 

“Hurry up and give you more troops. I get it.” He still sounded bitter, but it wasn’t directed at Claude anymore. “You have the Alliance. What’s Dimitri’s excuse?” 

Claude didn’t have an answer for that, so he didn’t try. 

“Rodrigue is going to do whatever Dimitri tells him to do,” Sylvain confided. “Even if it's to march straight to Enbarr with a token force.”

“That… can’t happen. Our campaign would be over before it started.” 

“Promise me you’ll stop them, and I’ll wring every soldier I can out of my father. But I won’t lead them to their deaths.”

“I don’t intend to throw our lives away. I’ll talk him out of it… Somehow.”

It wasn’t Claude’s most convincing promise, but Sylvain seemed to realize it was the best he could expect. He nodded, then spurred his horse away. 

Claude stood there alone for a long time. In the distance, he could hear the battle with the thieves raging, but he didn’t rush to join in. He knew Hilda and the others could handle themselves.

Everything would be fine _tonight._ But what about tomorrow? The next week? 

They only had a chance against the Empire if they stood together. Claude couldn’t let Dimitri take the Kingdom’s troops and rush off to die. But neither could he commit the Alliance to a heedless charge straight towards Enbarr. They needed to muster troops, establish supply lines, prepare for a long siege of the Great Bridge’s fortifications, a longer one at Fort Merceus… 

For all this to work, Claude _had_ to talk some sense into Dimitri. But the way the prince was acting, it would be far easier said than done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could take most of Dimitri's dialogue straight from the game, so I'm proudest of this particular take on Bitter As Fuck Sylvain.
> 
> First chapter in the "we know Claude's name" era! It won't be a major impact on this fic, but I'm going to edit a couple of passing references to Almyra in older chapters. It's good to know why exactly he isn't automatically the heir to the throne.


	16. Chapter 16

Luckily, slaughtering the thieves appeared to have whetted Dimitri’s appetite for bloodshed - at least for now. Claude stationed the soldiers who’d traveled with them at all possible exits. He also gave them strict orders not to actually try to stop Dimitri - who seemed willing to cut down anyone who tried to get in his way - but simply to raise the alarm so Claude could fly after him. 

He convinced Yuri to temporarily block off some of the tunnels for the same reason. Despite being in Claude’s pay now, Yuri only agreed to do so if the people in Abyss were given the run of the surface. It was an easy bargain for Claude - he needed everyone he could get, and whatever reason the Church had for locking them down there no longer applied. He set them to work rebuilding the damaged walls. 

Seteth and the Knights arrived first. Claude walked down to greet them while holding an enormous box in his arms. 

“Glad you decided to take me up on my offer. We could really use your help in the field. Plus, I’m just happy to see Flayn again.” He winked at Seteth, who pursed his lips without comment. 

“It _is_ good to see you again,” Flayn said with a formal curtsy. She looked like she hadn’t aged a day in five years - honestly, if nothing _else_ had tipped him off, that would’ve been the nail in the coffin. “If only it were in happier times.” 

“No injuries yet, thankfully, but the infirmary is all yours. Your brother and I made a deal. Non-combat duty only.” 

“Of course he did,” she grumbled, shooting Seteth an annoyed look. “It has not yet occurred to him that I can take care of myself.” 

Shamir interrupted their brewing argument with an impatient gesture. “Surely you aren’t suggesting we make the monastery our base of operations. The Empire captured it once, and that was _with_ our full defenses in place.” 

“We’re working to fix those - just in case - and this is the best place for the Kingdom forces to meet us. But once we have our army? We may want to leave it as we found it.” 

“I’m not sure I agree. Restoring the monastery would send a powerful signal to the faithful,” Seteth said. “Surely we can afford a garrison, even once our main forces are in the field.” 

Claude studied him carefully. Seteth wasn’t the type to come out and make strict demands, but once his mind was set on something, it would be hard to convince him otherwise. He still needed a sense of how far he could push the Church into a supporting role - Rhea or no Rhea. 

“I think we can agree on that,” he conceded. “I’ll leave those details to you.” 

He turned to Byleth and Leonie, setting the box down with a grunt of effort. “I brought presents for you.” 

Byleth eyed him and the box warily, but stepped forward to open it. At the sight of two legendary sacred weapons nestled in such an ordinary box, she swore loudly enough for Seteth to shoot her his most disapproving look. 

“Claude, you’re joking.”

“I’m serious! I _have_ a bow, and Leonie happens to be the second-best archer I know. As for the sword, you’re much more skilled than I. Besides, this way they’re both in the hands of the Knights of Seiros - isn’t that more fitting?” 

“That’s not the point. You can’t just… hand them out in a _box_.” 

“I think I just did.” 

Byleth huffed and snatched up Macuil’s blade. Leonie, trying very hard not to laugh, picked up the bow. 

“More importantly, lunch is ready in the dining hall. See, I thought of everything.” 

“Will Prince Dimitri be joining us?” Seteth asked. “We should discuss strategy.” 

Claude kept the grin on his face and shrugged. “I see nobody told you. The last time I saw him, he was standing in the chapel, staring at a pile of rubble and muttering to himself about Edelgard’s head.”

“I’d heard rumors, but they seem to have undersold the magnitude of the problem.” Seteth sighed. “Perhaps Flayn should examine him.” 

“Marianne’s been trying. He’s not been… receptive to the idea. I’m hoping when his old classmates arrive, they can help talk him into it.” Or Sylvain and Felix could help restrain him, which honestly felt more likely at the moment. 

“He’ll fight with us, but that’s about all he seems interested in doing,” Claude continued. “I’m afraid logistics - and the war council - are up to us.” 

Seteth frowned, but eventually nodded. “For now, we’ll make do.” 

It wasn’t like they had much of a choice. 

* * *

The next arrival was Ferdinand, who’d passed the last five years as an esteemed guest of Count Gloucester and Lorenz. He rode in with a whole battalion of knights decked out in the von Aegir livery. It seemed that plenty of defectors from his former territory had managed to cross the Great Bridge before Edelgard seized it. 

Over tea, he recounted the latest news to Lorenz and Claude. The Count was officially bound to the Roundtable consensus, but unofficially, he continued to explore the possibilities of an alliance with the Empire. 

“Openly declaring war may push him over the edge.” 

Claude looked at Lorenz, who sighed. “Ferdinand is correct. My father is… concerned about our own position above all else.”

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“Unfortunately, that is the situation. Now, if we could secure the Great Bridge, I am certain that I could convince my father to throw his full weight behind us.” 

“But to _get_ there, we need to march through Gloucester territory. A pretty hand he’s dealt himself.” Claude studied the map for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “If Riegan, Goneril, and Daphnel forces all marshalled at his northern border… would he be convinced that we intended to attack _him,_ and divert all his forces to intercept?” 

Ferdinand nodded. “He often speaks about your recklessness and unpredictability - ah, no offense. I think he believes you are capable of anything.” 

“Excellent. I’ll begin our preparations. Lorenz, I trust that these little details won’t make their way back to your father?”

The noble made a face. “Claude, do you even have to ask? You are the leader of the Alliance. If we intend to stand against the Empire, it is my duty to assist you.” 

“I don’t _have_ to ask,” Claude admitted with a grin. “I just like hearing you say that.” 

* * *

Sylvain returned with all of his former classmates - even Ashe, whose house had joined the western lords. Dimitri’s survival meant his oath to the king took precedence, fortunately. But the students came alone, bringing no troops from their territories. He and Felix went straight from the stables to Claude, still caked with mud from the journey. 

“The situation's changed since we talked,” Sylvain explained, before Claude could even ask what had gone wrong. “An Imperial army is marching to reinforce Cornelia, led by the Minister of War himself.”

“She wants to crush what’s left of the Kingdom in one fell swoop,” Claude realized. Sending Caspar’s father out meant serious business - only Arundel and Edelgard herself outranked him in military matters. 

“My father still wants to bleed our defenses dry to reinforce the boar and his mad quest for vengeance, naturally,” Felix said, the disgust in his expression matched by that in his voice. “He left Margrave Gautier in charge and is heading south. But at least he’s got the sense to do it quietly. He’s cutting through Ailell.”

“Well, there won’t be many spies hiding in the ‘Valley of Torment.’” Claude nodded at both of them in turn. “Thanks. We’ll make do until Duke Fraldarius arrives.” 

“ _Make do_? That journey will take my father weeks. Unless you’ve finally built a cage big enough to hold the boar, he won’t wait that long,” Felix sneered. 

“There’s plenty of wood in the Sealed Forest - if you’re so concerned, start chopping,” Claude said, with a careless gesture to the door. 

Sylvain stepped between them before Felix could escalate the argument. “We won’t take any more of your time. And we’ll go check on Dimitri.” Felix didn’t look happy about _that,_ but he let Sylvain steer him away by the arm. 

Claude let his flippant grin fade once the door was securely closed behind them. The idea that managing Dimtiri was up to _him_ was already starting to grate on him - especially when most of the people telling him to do so knew damn well how they’d felt about each other. _That_ Dimitri might never come back. 

… But then again, Dimitri's childhood friends had wanted him back since the Tragedy of Duscur. Maybe it wasn't responsibility they were throwing at him, but hope that he could do what they couldn't.

Claude wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

* * *

When the Empire sent a force to attack the monastery, Claude initially feared the worst. But it quickly became apparent that they’d avoided the worst case scenario. This army was much smaller than the one that had crushed them five years previously - it must have consisted of only those troops that were already in the area. 

Their defenses were only half-repaired, but their numbers equaled the enemy’s, and they had the advantage of several Relic and holy weapons. After a hasty planning session, Claude and Seteth decided to face the enemy directly… with a fire trap as a little trick up their sleeve. 

It was just as well they didn’t decide on a defensive strategy. Dimitri barely deigned to wait for their troops to get into position before rushing towards the enemy. Claude had anticipated this, positioning most of his soldiers to guard the mad prince. He took a few men and flew low, escorting the fire team to the trigger point. 

Once _that_ was set, the battle was all but over. The enemy commander ordered a retreat - and covered it personally, with more courage than sense. Dimitri cut him down with a single thrust of his lance and kept going - slaughtering his way through the soldiers holding the line, and chasing after those who’d retreated once he got tired of that. 

Claude sighed, but he didn’t need to issue the order; Ingrid and Sylvain were already going after him. With a horse (and flying horse), respectively, catching up to him would be easy, but getting him to come _back_ would be no easy task. 

It turned out the enemy commander was alive, perhaps thanks to Linhardt’s immediate intervention. The healer made no distinction between friend and foe, triaging both groups equally. A few of the Alliance troops were grumbling about it, but Claude silenced them with a stern look. 

“Wow… didn’t expect to see him here.” Caspar, who’d more or less served as Linhardt’s personal bodyguard during the fighting, peered at the enemy commander’s face.

“Who is he?” Claude asked.

“My uncle, Randolph. My grandfather married his mother after my grandmother died,” Caspar said with a shrug. “He was the favorite, but my dad inherited.” 

“How lucky he was.” Linhardt rolled his eyes.

“Hey! That’s the tone you use when you’re implying something, but I don’t know what it is this time!” 

“Caspar, I can’t die here,” Randolph said weakly, fixing Caspar with an unsteady stare.

“Neither can anyone else. You’re welcome,” Linhardt sniffed, before moving on to the next wounded soldier. 

Claude cleared his throat. “You fought well. Give me your word of honor that you’ll make no effort to escape, and we can dispense with that whole ‘shackled in a jail cell’ indignity.” 

Before Randolph could reply, Dimitri stomped back up behind him, bloody lance in hand. He glared down at the wounded man. “Ah… I see I missed one.”

“He’s surrendered,” Ingrid said indignantly. 

“It matters not. In war, we are all monsters. His hands are stained with as much blood as mine.” The prince sneered down at Randolph. “You let a beast of this depravity live? No matter, I’ll take my time with him.” 

“My sister needs me. You’re a heartless monster!” Randolph panted from the effort of speaking.

“And _my_ sister sent you to me. As a general, you must have killed countless souls without a shred of mercy.”

“We’re bringing a better age to Fodlan! I would never-”

“Do you still remember the sound of them begging, just as you are begging now? Or now that your life is at its end, will you hold to the lie that your hands are not stained red with blood?”

Randolph’s eyes went wide as realization struck that what he’d heard about “mad Prince Dimitri” wasn’t propaganda. He looked first to Caspar, then Claude, beseechingly.

“I won’t kill you right away, my fellow monster. Unless you object to watching your friends die. One.. by… one.”

Randolph paled and tried to back away, tearing open the wound on his stomach.

Claude’s mind raced. Quite aside from his disgust at the idea of torturing _any_ prisoner, Randolph was simply too valuable to lose. Count Bergliez’s eldest son was, by all accounts, pretty useless. When the war was over, his territory would welcome a competent administrator (so, not Caspar), and allowing another member of the family to take the job would smooth the transition. 

He had to take a gamble that Dimitri was simply lashing out at anyone in his path, and would forget all about this once his bloodlust subsided (as much as it did, these days).

“If so, I will do you the service of removing your eyes first so that-”

“Not here,” Claude said. “We should take him inside. He’s torn his wound open, unless you want this to be over in a few minutes.” 

Ingrid looked at him with disgust and stalked away. The tale of ‘his’ cruelty would circulate, but there was no helping that now. 

But Dimitri looked happy with the idea, which was worth the rumors. “Very well. I will see if any of the other rats are still scurrying about…” 

Later, when he’d gotten Randolph into one of the old dormitory rooms, Claude apologized for the deception.

“He’s a madman,” Randolph spluttered. “The one-eyed monster slaughtering Imperial troops… is the heir to the Kingdom?” 

“Yeah, we’re, uh, working on that. He won’t actually touch you. You have my word,” Claude said. “And like I was saying before we were interrupted: give me your parole and I’ll make your stay here as comfortable as it can be. The monks can always use another hand in the orphanage.” 

Randolph gave him a skeptical look. “But… why? By the articles of war, you have every right to hold me for ransom, or-” 

Claude waved a hand to interrupt him. “The Emperor, Edelgard… you’re fighting for her because you believe in her goals, right? I can respect that. I can’t condone how she’s going about it, but her ideals are noble. If we win, I don’t see any reason to roll back her reforms. Nor punish the people who fought for them.” 

“You are… not what I expected,” Randolph admitted. “Very well; I won’t try to escape. You have my word.”

“Though, uh, maybe have someone shave your head and try to blend in. He’ll probably forget you ever existed, but no reason to take chances.” 

One situation successfully defused. But as Claude left the room, he had to wonder if Dimitri would try to torture every single prisoner they took. He couldn’t count on this particular scheme working out every time. What would happen when Claude insisted the next commander be treated fairly? Was Dimitri so far gone that he’d attack his friends if they stood in his way? 

They _had_ to do something to snap him out of this madness. It was time to let Flayn and Marianne try their magic on him - whether or not he agreed to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That A+ Caspar line was written by TK.


	17. Chapter 17

Once again, killing a bunch of people seemed to have temporarily raised Dimitri’s spirits to the point that he was _almost_ taking care of himself. Claude still needed to arrange for food to be brought to the chapel, but the baskets came back almost empty. It passed for a good sign, anyway, and he was willing to risk his request. 

“You really ought to go to the infirmary. I know you took a few hits in that last battle. Not that it slows you down, but an infection might.” 

Actually, it was sort of a miracle that he _had_ avoided a fatal disease in five years of living in squalor (and not even properly disposing of his victim’s corpses!) That Crest might keep him going through it all. Still, best not to push their luck. 

“Healing me is a waste of effort,” Dimitri said. Claude could tell he was about to launch into another speech about being a dead man walking, and quickly interrupted. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that, which is why I waited until now. They cleared the backlog from the battle. You wouldn’t be taking the spot from anyone else.”

“Fine,” Dimitri grunted, and followed him out of the chapel. 

It was late, but there were still people milling around the monastery grounds, monks and soldiers alike. Anyone who saw them gave them a wide berth. A less observant man might have confused it for respectful deference, but Claude could see the fear in their posture and body language. The rumors of Dimitri’s treatment of Randolph were spreading, and Claude’s apparent support of his cruelty wasn’t inspiring confidence.

He could have produced Randolph and quieted the rumors at any point - but he didn’t. It was better for a leader to be feared than look weak and indecisive. Claude had learned that lesson a long time ago. 

Marianne, Mercedes, and Flayn were all still in the infirmary. Claude had spoken to them previously, and they’d agreed on a strategy. Dimitri had never shown much interest in magic, and wouldn’t notice that the White Magic was taking an awfully long time to fix the minor wounds. To avoid spooking him off, only Flayn actually touched him, while the other two supported her spells quietly from a distance.

Half an hour later, the prince stomped back to the chapel, and Claude looked at the healers. “Any luck?” 

Flayn shook her head solemnly. “This is no simple matter. It is not like undoing dark magic or healing the body. For the mind, a patient must be willing to change.” 

“He’s hearing voices - you can’t just make them quiet down?” 

“We can work to muffle them over continued sessions, but that is only part of the issue. His grief and rage at the death of his family and Dedue, the thirst for revenge against Edelgard… those are choices he made. No amount of healing can convince him to make others.” 

Claude sighed. “So it’s not simple madness. I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.” 

“Worse,” Flayn said promptly, with her gift for not catching on to rhetorical questions. 

“Right. Well. You three, focus on the parts we _can_ make better. As for talking him out of his vengeance…” Claude shook his head. “I’ll try to think of something.” 

He didn’t really have another choice. Once Rodrigue arrived, Dimitri would have the means for his desire to march straight to Enbarr… and to his death. For his sake, Claude _had_ to somehow convince him to hold back. 

* * *

The next day, Dimitri’s childhood friends all went in to see him, but to no avail. Despite Felix and Ingrid both losing someone they cared about in the same Tragedy, their pleas for their prince to also put his duty ahead of revenge fell on deaf ears. Sylvain had no luck either, but at least he kept Felix from dueling Dimitri on the spot - which, he assured Claude, had been a very close thing.

Claude was still racking his brains for someone else who might get through to Dimitri when Raphael walked up to the chapel entrance.

“I’m going in there.”

Claude blinked. “ _You_? Uh, no offense, but I didn’t know you were friends.” 

“Oh, sure. We talked about our training regimens all the time back in school. But this is more important.” 

Raphael pushed the great doors open without further ado. Claude immediately followed him. He’d given the childhood friends their privacy, but he didn’t want to miss this. 

Raphael walked right up to Dimitri and said, “What’s wrong with you?” 

“What did you just say?” The prince’s voice was low and dangerous. Claude kicked himself for letting this happen, and braced himself to jump in and break up a fight. 

Raphael stood his ground. “I said, ‘what’s wrong with you?’ Don’t you have a whole Kingdom counting on you to come back?” 

“Oh, I’ll return - once I have Edelgard’s head.” 

“Okay. Sure. But in the meantime, the people counting on you are suffering.” Raphael folded his arms.

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” Dimitri growled.

“I understand fine. My parents were murdered, too. And I know who did it.” 

“Then your duty is to avenge them.” 

“No, my _duty_ is to take care of my sister. She’s the one who’s still alive. And that’s what my parents would want. It’d be irresponsible to get myself killed or captured going after the Count - who’d provide for her then?” 

Dimitri started to say something, but Raphael talked over him. “Politics go right over my head, but the way I see it, you’re responsible for your country, the way I’m responsible for my family. They need you the way Maya needs me. That’s all I have to say.” 

He turned and walked away, leaving Dimitri shocked into silence. Claude slipped away before the prince noticed he was there. 

“Good speech.” 

“ _Someone_ needed to say it - figured it might as well be me, since I can take a hit.” Raphael flexed an arm thoughtfully. “Think he’ll listen?” 

“We can only hope. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Great!” Raphael said, and followed agreeably in Claude’s wake. 

* * *

At the next war council meeting, tensions ran high. They couldn’t guarantee that every one of Randolph’s soldiers had died. If even one had escaped, the Empire would soon know where they were - and the monastery would not be defensible when Edelgard sent a larger army.   
  
They all knew that Dimitri would want to go on the attack, but he refused to attend these sessions. It left Claude, Seteth, and Alliance lords all dancing around the issue, unable to commit to any real plans. Claude had to work hard to keep his own allies from getting cold feet and returning home, or - worse - running over to Count Gloucester. They were frightened by his proposal to take the Great Bridge and initiate the conflict in earnest. With Rodrigue’s troops added to their forces, everyone’s spines would stiffen… but only _if_ those troops could be added to their forces.

Claude sighed and watched the new serving girl (Fleche something or other - one of the many refugees with nowhere else to go, simply grateful for a position with their forces), clear away empty plates and teacups. Felix’s father would be here soon, and they could finally act - one way or another. 

Lorenz, who’d also lingered after the meeting, cleared his throat loudly. “Claude, I must speak with you.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.” 

“Have you ever heard the fable of the deer without a heart?” 

Claude blinked and sat straighter in his chair. This didn’t seem like Lorenz. “No… perhaps you can enlighten me.” 

“Very well. The story goes that a fox persuaded a deer to visit his friend, the lion, who was too sick to hunt. The lion attacked the deer and bit him on the ear, and the deer fled. But the wily fox convinced the deer that this was the custom among lions, a rough but friendly greeting. So the deer returned to the lion’s den - and was, of course, devoured. After the lion had eaten its fill, the fox stole the deer’s heart. When the lion confronted him, the fox said, ‘That deer had no heart. How else would it could it have been foolish enough to walk into your den not once, but twice?’” 

“Seems like that story would work better if it was the brain.” 

Lorenz sighed. “The tale predates modern medicine. And _you_ are intentionally missing my point.” 

Claude grinned. “I figured that would annoy you. Well, let me clear things up - there’s nobody pulling my strings. Our alliance with _this_ lion is for the benefit of the Alliance.” 

“That may be, but if we aren’t careful, we’ll go to our death all the same. Lions who think only of their own vengeance make unreliable allies.” 

“You’re really stretching this animal metaphor. I’ve got another one for you: I used to think you were a fox among the deer of the Alliance. But I was wrong - you're no thoughtless predator. You're just trying to protect the deer.” 

Lorenz nodded. “I once thought the same of you. I, too, was mistaken. You’re the leader the Alliance needs.”

Claude laughed. “A compliment? From you? Now I’ve heard everything.” 

Lorenz sniffed. “Bear in mind, you may yet prove yourself unworthy of it. If that happens, I’ll seize the position for myself.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Claude said. “And look - I appreciate your concerns, even if you brought them up in the most roundabout way possible. I’m not going to let Dimitri take the Alliance down with him.” 

“But what will you do if he takes his Duke’s army and departs? We can’t fight the Empire alone.” 

“Lorenz… Trust me. I’ve always got another trick up my sleeve.” 

Once, that would have only bought Claude a sneer and a round of pointed follow-up questions. Now, Lorenz simply nodded and clasped his hand before departing. Claude wondered if he’d be so happy if he found out what that back-up plan _was._

The Alliance wouldn’t be happy, but if the Kingdom was off the board, Almyra would be their only option. Dimitri and the Kingdom army might even soften the Empire up enough for Claude’s follow-up attack to succeed. 

He could win the war and accomplish his real objective at the same time. And all that it would cost him… was Dimitri’s life. 

If he was _really_ so heartless, it would be an easy decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka Raphael and Dimitri's missing A support
> 
> Also, Lorenz with the title drop. This is an actual fable and obviously was my basis for the title. While the moral of the story is definitely more about 'the brain' as we understand it today, 'the heart' made for a much cooler title... and has a neat double meaning.


	18. Chapter 18

The date the Kingdom troops were expected to arrive came and went without any word from Fraldarius. Claude and Dimitri took a small force - mostly the former students - north to scout for them. Claude feared the worst, but the prince seemed more excited than worried by the prospect of something going wrong and requiring a fight. He didn’t sleep, but didn’t volunteer for the late watches at the camp, either. He just paced back and forth and talked to himself - or rather, his ghosts. 

They met Rodrigue’s messenger on the road. She was exhausted, but managed to get the point across: they’d been ambushed in the Valley by a significant force of western lords, spearheaded by House Rowe. 

Yuri sighed. “He _would_.” 

“How did we not hear about this?” Claude knew all about the other man’s ignominious exit from his former House, but obviously, he’d retained connections. Servants, stablehands, people who talked. 

“Seems we’ve a spy in our ranks, one clever enough to intercept my people’s warnings - which is no easy task. I’ll track them down,” Yuri promised. 

“Spies and traitors,” Dimitri snarled. “We march now. I’ll have Rowe’s head.”

“And we’ll save our own soldiers… Not that you care,” Felix sneered. If Dimitri had heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it, stalking past all of them. 

But by the time they arrived, the battle was over. Rodrigue greeted them just outside the Valley itself, looking tired but pleased. His honor guard included a knight with hair the color of Annette’s - at least, where it hadn’t gone gray. Her wayward father, Claude guessed. 

“It’s been too long, Your Highness,” the Duke said, with a formal bow. “When they told me you’d been executed… Well, I’m overjoyed to see the truth of it.” 

“I should have killed that traitorous witch long ago,” Dimitri said. He was looking past Rodrigue, as if the man wasn’t there. 

Rodrigue sighed and turned to Claude. “I appreciate the Alliance coming to our aid - even though it turns out we didn’t need it.” 

“Maybe this time, but we’ll need to work together closely for the rest of the war,” Claude said. He shook the Duke’s outstretched hand. “Glad you made it.” 

“Letting them ambush you like that… you’ve lost your edge, old man,” Felix said. 

“Perhaps. It looked bad at first. But in the end, most of the army made it out.” 

“What happened?” 

“Our ambushers were ambushed in turn. By a quite unexpected force, too. A small army of men from Duscur, if you can believe it.” 

That seemed to get Dimitri’s attention. “ _Duscur_? But why would they help you - help the Kingdom that wiped them out?” 

Rodrigue smiled. “I spoke to their leader. He says that he owes you a personal debt. He’s very eager to see you, actually.”

“Take me to him,” the prince said, and for the first time Claude could remember, he almost sounded like the student he’d been, not the man he’d become.

The Duscur general removed his helmet as they approached. Dimitri stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the scarred face. 

“Dedue! How… how is this possible? You died!” 

“My brothers saved me,” Dedue said, gesturing at the men behind him. 

Dimitri stared at him a moment more, then surged forward and threw his arms around Dedue. Claude grinned at the look on the Kingdom soldiers’ faces. Their future king embracing his retainer like an equal - and that retainer a hated man of Duscur, on top of it. 

“Swear something to me,” Dimitri said, once they’d pulled apart. “Do not ever throw your life away, ever again.”

“Your Highness... I am your sword and shield. It is my duty-”

“You are my _friend_ , and I can’t lose you again. Swear it. Please.” 

Dedue managed the hint of a smile. “I swear it… Dimitri.” 

The prince closed his remaining eye and exhaled a long sigh. “Good. I need you at my side. Enbarr awaits us.” 

Rodrigue frowned. “Your Highness… Fhirdiad is in a terrible position right now. People are starving, and Cornelia doesn’t seem to care. The Empire’s new army will only make things worse. If you’ll permit me to speak freely… I believe we should march back north and liberate the capital. Save its people.” 

“No. We must annihilate Enbarr; that is all that matters.” Any change that had come over Dimitri at the sight of Dedue being alive seemed to have melted away. 

“I want to destroy the Empire, too - believe me. But the people - your subjects - still live, and our first responsibility is to them!” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude noticed Felix giving his father a small nod, surprise written on his face.

“Are you asking me… asking the dead… to forgive _that woman_?” Dimitri snarled. 

“ _No_. Just to put your people first for the time being. Dimitri, you know I served as Lambert’s right hand for many years. If your father were here, he’d tell you the same thing.” 

It was the wrong approach. The prince’s voice grew even more harsh. “ _My father_ is a slave to lingering regret and hatred. Even now, he suffers. He cries out to me… I will not waste time. I must avenge him!” 

Rodrigue sighed. “You are our king. If you’re set on this, I will follow you.” 

Felix scoffed, making sure everyone could hear him. “And here I thought you’d finally grown a spine.” 

Claude had expected this - he’d been amply forewarned by Sylvain. “The Alliance will march with you. But may I suggest that we first capture the Great Bridge? Once our southern border is secured, we can devote more troops to the cause.”

“It’s a wise move,” the Duke agreed. “There are other bridges, but it’s the largest, and in the best strategic position. In the end, securing our flank will get us to Enbarr more quickly.” 

That logic seemed to appeal to Dimitri - at least this time he didn’t start arguing about the plan adding an unnecessary detour on the road south. 

A joint attack. At least Claude could count on that. It would buy him a _little_ more time to figure out his next move. 

* * *

Dimitri still refused to talk to anyone, but he was no longer alone in his nighttime vigils. Dedue accompanied him wherever he went. They never said a word to each other, but it seemed like a positive sign - at least the prince was not turning him away like all the others.

Rodrigue had brought Areadbhar with him - stolen from Cornelia and kept in his care these last five years. He presented it to his would-be king with great ceremony. It made Claude think of their Academy days, when he chose to approach Dimitri because he would one day be king and wield such a powerful Relic weapon. Now… he wondered how much more damage the mad prince could do with it. 

They didn’t linger at the monastery long. Word that the Kingdom, Alliance, and Church forces had joined into a real army would travel fast - and Edelgard would react quickly to the unexpected threat. Claude left the garrison troops Seteth wanted behind, but most of their forces would occupy the far more defensible Great Bridge, after the battle. 

With their current numbers against the Empire’s smaller occupying force, not to mention the success of Claude’s ploy to draw most of the Gloucester troops away, it wasn’t really a question of _if_ they’d win, but how quickly, and at what cost.

Ferdinand volunteered to ride out under a flag of truce, and offer the Imperial troops terms of surrender. Claude and Seteth readily agreed, and to their surprise, Dimitri did too - or at least, didn’t care enough to object. Perhaps he was getting better with Dedue’s unlikely return. Or perhaps it had just cleared his mind enough to recognize that this whole battle was just a distraction on the way to his direct vengeance against Edelgard. 

But when Ferdinand returned an hour later, the look on his face spoiled the answer he’d received.

“They will not lay down their arms. I know their commander - General Ladislava. Once, she was a common soldier, denied entrance to the Academy due to lack of funds. But Edelgard recognized her talents nonetheless, elevating her to her current position.” 

“Earning her loyalty in the process. I assume she’ll fight to the death,” Claude said. 

Ferdinand nodded gravely. “Her sense of honor demands no less.”

“Honor… what a ridiculous notion. She is a fool. Why embrace death for _that woman_ , of all people?” Dimitri said.

Claude glanced at him. “What, do you wish they’d surrendered?” 

“We have no choice but to kill them. They’re just beasts with human faces. Don’t waste time regretting it,” the prince said, but there was something odd in his voice. Plus, this was the most he’d been willing to _talk_ about things for quite some time.

“If we can deal swiftly with General Ladislava, the common soldiers may feel otherwise,” Seteth said. 

Claude nodded. “I won’t order anything too risky, but if she’s the type of person I think she is, she’ll lead from the front. We can try to focus on her. Give her soldiers that chance.” 

“Thank you,” Ferdinand said, inclining his head to each of them in turn. “Please, permit me to lead the vanguard!” 

“Granted,” Claude said. “But be careful.” 

* * *

It was a short battle, in the end. Ferdinand’s charge carried their cavalry through the initial defenses, and as predicted, the enemy general met them on her wyvern. In the chaos, she fell - whether to arrow, or magic, or a knight’s lance, it was hard to say. Then it was simply a matter of killing the mindless demonic beasts, and the Bridge was theirs. Many of the common soldiers surrendered rather than continue the hopeless battle without Ladislava. 

Claude left Seteth to handle the logistics of securing and transporting the new prisoners back to Garreg Mach. He went looking for Dimitri, and found him in conversation with Felix, of all people. They stood on the southern battlements of the Great Bridge’s fortress, looking out over Gronder Field. 

“I’m wasting my time. Talking to a boar that has lost its mind.” 

“They killed _Glenn_. On her orders. How are you not as eager as I to have her head?” 

“Revenge can’t bring the dead back to life,” Felix shot back. He saw Claude approaching and waved him over. “Hanging on to your anger is futile.” 

Dimitri acknowledged Claude’s presence with a nod, but kept talking. “But if the dead are beyond reach, it would also be pointless to mourn or even bury them.” 

“That mind of yours leaps to strange places. We can honor them without living our lives out of some twisted obligation. If you keep hanging those gravestones around your neck, you’ll snap.” Felix looked at Dimitri, something in his eyes that Claude hadn’t ever seen there before. Concern?

“Call off the march south," he pleaded. "We need a supply chain, reinforcements - we need more _time_. If you rush off _now_ , the ground will collapse beneath our feet.” 

“I cannot do that. Every moment she continues to draw breath is an insult to their memories.” 

Claude would never know what Felix was going to say next, because that was when a serving girl snuck up behind them and threw a knife at the back of Dimitri’s head, screaming as if she were dying.

"I am Fleche von Bergliez, and even in death I won't forgive you for what you did to my brother!"

The board shifted into painful focus. Claude had fatally underestimated the girl, asking no questions when she’d simply turned up and joined the monastery staff. He’d thought her just another refugee in the sea of refugees. _She_ was the spy - who knew how much she’d learned just by serving the tea at their war council meetings? And now she played assassin. 

It all flashed through his thoughts before he could move. He was too slow to stop her. So was Dimitri, who had only begun to turn at the sound of the knife.

Felix wasn’t.

Boots pounded up to the battlements - Sylvain, Rodrigue, and a company of soldiers. Sylvain saw the knife in Felix’s chest and _howled_ , dropping to his knees beside the prone form. Numbly, Claude gestured for the soldiers to secure the girl, who made no effort to escape. She spat curses at Dimitri, yelling about her tortured brother, that she’d get him yet.

Bergliez. Torture. _Randolph_. Randolph’s little sister had fully believed the story Claude let people believe. And look what it had cost.

“He’s still alive!” Sylvain shouted, his hands glowing with more White Magic than he had. “Healer! We need a-” 

Rodrigue bent down in turn, hands glowing with his own power, face screwed up in concentration. Claude didn’t know much about healing magic, but he knew wounds, and he knew Felix was circling the drain. He and Dimitri both stared in silence as Rodrigue worked a healing spell that was nothing short of miraculous. Or at least, Crest-driven. 

Eventually, Felix’s eyes opened. 

“Felix!” Dimitri cried. “You shouldn’t have, I-” 

“Shut up. Stupid fucking boar,” Felix muttered. His eyes fluttered shut again. 

“Move him - carefully. We need to get the knife out, but we need other healers standing by the moment we do.” Rodrigue’s hands were trembling, whether from the sight of his son or the effort of his spellcasting. Perhaps both. He laid one on Felix’s forehead, painting it with his own blood.

“Son… I’m so proud-” 

Sylvain straightened up and, to Claude’s surprise, shoved the Duke right in the chest, pushing him back. “No. You've done enough damage. Get the fuck out of here. The last thing he needs right now is _you_ hanging around. And if I hear one word about chivalry, Faerghus is going to have a second civil war.”

Claude looked between them, mystified, trying to figure out what he was missing. Hadn’t Rodrigue just saved his son’s life? When Rodrigue visited the academy, it had put Felix in a terrible mood, but apparently the animosity between son and father was deeper than Claude guessed.

“Sylvain, take him to the healers, please.” Dimitri put a hand on the man’s shoulder - a far more gentle touch than Claude had seen him capable of up to that point. He kept Rodrigue still with another light movement of his arm. The duke wasn't offended or even surprised by Sylvain's outburst. No resignation painted his face, just acceptance. What was _wrong_ with Faerghus?

Only when Sylvain was gone did the prince address Rodrigue. “Sylvain’s phrasing was unfortunate, but he is right. You told me I’m needed back in the Kingdom. Well, so are you. Please return there and prepare for the Minister of War’s impending attack. Felix will be well cared for.” 

Rodrigue lowered his head. “As you command, Your Highness.” 

He left without further protest. Dimitri and Claude were alone. The prince’s composure slipped, his shoulders shaking with tension and, perhaps, something else… regret.

“That girl… Randolph’s sister… was here to strike me down for what I… what I did to him. Felix… that punishment was mine to bear!”

“There’s no such thing as proper punishments. Not in war,” Claude said, shaking his head. 

“He almost _died_.” Dimitri’s voice broke into a sob. “He almost joined the ghosts that shadow my every move. And it would have been me who killed him, as surely as if I’d thrust the knife in with my own hands!” 

He started down the stairs, moving slowly, as though walking through water instead of air.

“Where exactly are you going?” Claude asked. He easily outpaced Dimitri and stood blocking his path at the bottom of the stairs.

“It doesn’t concern you. Get out of my way.” 

“Let me guess. Enbarr. Grabbing a horse and riding down all by yourself.”

“It’s what I should have done in the first place. Listening to _you_ only puts people like Felix at risk. I will only risk my own life from now on.” 

“Don’t talk to me about _Felix_ while you’re spitting in his face,” Claude said, so harshly that even Dimitri looked surprised. “He didn’t take that knife for you so you could dishonor his sacrifice by throwing your own life away. You owe him for that!” 

“But… if I stop now… What was the point? Ever since that day nine years ago… I have lived only to avenge the fallen. The Academy, all of it, was just the means to secure my revenge. It was the only thing I had to live for…” 

“You’re surrounded by people that care about you, Dimitri. Friends, classmates, soldiers from your country… And me,” Claude said. “You’ve got plenty of other reasons to live. Don’t you see that?” 

Dimitri didn’t meet his gaze. “I was the only survivor, that day… Do I really have the right to forget them? Live for something so selfish as… myself?” 

“This isn’t forgetting them. And the _selfish_ thing would be to run off and get killed. Staying, doing the right thing for your friends, your subjects… That isn’t selfish.” Claude stepped out of his way and gestured towards the stables. “The choice is yours. Make the right one.” 

Tentatively, Dimitri took Claude’s outstretched hand and pressed it between his. For a long time, neither of them said another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been playing it straight for a bit but let's AU it up again, because Felix *would* and there's more drama this way. (Another great TK suggestion!)


	19. Chapter 19

The next council of war took place at Felix’s bedside, which naturally annoyed him to no end. He scowled at all of them in turn to make up for his inability to level some barbed insult and walk away. Claude hid a smirk at the sight of the rest of the Blue Lions doting over him. For all of his protests, Felix had managed to eat every little cake Annette and Mercedes brought him. 

The Dimitri who walked into the tent was a changed man. He’d cut his hair and tied the rest back out of his face. He also looked like he’d slept properly for the first time in weeks.

“Before we begin… please, may I have a moment of your time?” He took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn. “I wish to apologize. To every one of you. I dragged you down this road with me, and can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. No apology would be sufficient for what I’ve done.” 

“Damn right. Spare me the empty words,” Felix groused, his stern facade somewhat undercut by the icing smeared at one corner of his mouth. 

Dimitri inclined his head. “I know that words are not enough. I must _act_ , and do the right thing from now on. So I have a proposal for this council. While the Alliance and Church forces secure our defenses here, I will lead the Kingdom army north - and take back our capital.” 

Claude had been expecting that, and given it plenty of thought. “It’s risky to split our forces. But if you can defeat Cornelia and the army that reinforced her, get your western lords to fall back in line… well, that re-united Kingdom would make a much stronger ally.”

Seteth nodded. “I believe that continuing our attack with our current forces would be needlessly reckless. We’re too heavily outnumbered - the Empire would bring up reinforcements and crush us if we attempted to lay siege to Fort Merceus. But with the full force of the Kingdom on our side...” 

_The Almyran army would also do_ , Claude thought, but didn’t say. That particular card would be tricky to play. Nader had written to say he would be at the Throat in just a couple more days, and Claude still wasn’t sure if he could even talk Holst into this. 

“There are strategic considerations, but more than that, I owe it to the people of Faerghus. I turned my back on their suffering for far too long, selfishly pursuing my own desires.” 

“You’re willing to turn back now? Ignore your need to cut the Emperor’s head from her shoulders?” Felix challenged. 

“I still hate all of those responsible for the Tragedy, but _that_ \- but _Edelgard_ was a child at the time. I have questions - was it done on her behalf? Did she know? Once we defeat the Empire, I will have my answers.” Dimitri shook his head. “But for now, I must… no, I’m _choosing_ to save our people. Those who still live are more important.” 

“Hmph. If you’d just listened to us in the first place, I’d be able to fight at your side, not stuck here listening to your prattle,” Felix said, but there was little bite in his tone. 

“While you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can drum up more support from the Alliance,” Claude said. “Hilda and I are going up to visit Holst Goneril. I trust I can leave the Bridge under your command for now, Seteth. Judith will help you.” 

“You may. Do you have any particular instructions?” 

“No _place_ is worth dying for. There are other possible lines of defense. If you’re attacked while I’m away and things look bad, retreat, and make for Derdriu.” 

Seteth nodded, his expression grave. “Agreed.” 

Dimitri pulled Lorenz aside as the war council was breaking up, and Claude couldn’t help but stop to eavesdrop. 

“I would like to borrow Ser Kirsten, if you are willing to release him from your service. I intend to offer him the role of Knight-Captain in my personal guard.”

Lorenz blinked slowly. “It seems a great honor. I have no objection to you asking him. But if I may ask… why?” 

Dimitri smiled. “A man that wise should be put in a position of leadership. And I would welcome his counsel.” 

Claude snorted at the look on Lorenz’s face as the noble, speechless, simply nodded. 

The tent was now empty save for Felix (and Sylvain, who had not left his side). Claude followed Dimitri out. The Kingdom soldiers were rushing around, preparing supplies, weapons, and armor for the march north. 

“I need to apologize to you, as well,” Dimitri said abruptly. “For how I’ve treated you these past months… and more than that, the way I acted when we were still at the Academy. I was obsessed with my revenge, and I pushed you aside.” 

“You do,” Claude agreed. “And don’t forget those five years I thought you were dead. Not a single letter!” 

“As Felix said, my words are not enough. If you wish to end… whatever it was between us… I would understand.” 

Now _there_ was the Dimitri he remembered - obviously upset, but trying to hide behind the formality in his voice and in his face. 

“I _don’t_ want that. But regaining trust… that’s a process. No, don’t say anything else. Just keep showing you’re committed now, and, well… we’ll see.” 

Dimtri nodded solemnly. “I understand.” 

He was trying so hard not to look miserable that Claude wanted to laugh, maybe would have if not for everything that happened. “And I can’t say I’m not… Concerned there will be future lapses. Felix told me it’s something that affects everyone with the Crest of Blaiddyd, not simply a result of what you’ve been through.”

Dimitri sighed. “A shameful family secret that previous kings worked hard to keep quiet. House Fraldarius has always been there to help… but that can’t continue.”

“It can’t, but not in the way you think. Stop being so… Faerghus about it!” Claude said, with some frustration. “It’s not your fault, nor a secret shame you hide from all but your top advisor. You have plenty of people who care about you, who will stay at your side and point out when your decision-making is affected. But you _need_ to let them in. Did you even realize Sylvain taught himself enough White Magic to save your life when the monastery fell?” 

The prince cast a guilty look back towards the tent. “I… no. I don’t remember much about that day.” 

“Felix might refuse his father’s role, but we _saw_ him take a knife for you. And Ingrid will never sit by if she thinks you’re doing something dishonorable. You can lean on them. Any good leader needs advisers, Crest or no Crest. Hell,” Claude said with a laugh, “Lorenz argues against any decision I make on general principle, but you know what? It’s good. It means I need to defend my logic, justify it to the other lords.”

“You make a convincing argument. As usual. I should put more faith in my friends.” 

“That’s how I got this far,” Claude said, which was true enough. 

But then, maybe he should start taking his own advice. He hadn’t even told Hilda what he was planning with the Almyran army currently massing at the Throat. And even now, he was avoiding the full story. He’d worked out a loose cover plan with Nader - his old instructor would not recognize him, and simply say the King had sent assistance after the Duke’s careful diplomacy. 

It might not hold up for long. But the full truth… it wasn’t worth the risk.

* * *

They arrived at the Locket just in time. The fortress was on high alert - Nader, in accordance with Claude’s instructions, had advanced slowly, in plain sight all the while. He’d hoped to lower the risk of an Alliance soldier being spooked into firing first. 

This was only the second or third time Claude had seen Holst Goneril in person - he absolutely despised the Roundtables, and started sending Hilda to cover that end of things as soon as they’d returned from the Academy. Claude had grown a head taller than him, but Holst still exuded the same breezy confidence as he shook his leader’s hand.

“Good to see you, sir! Hilda, you’re looking well. And Balthus - I trust you’re still behaving yourself?” 

“He’s been a _perfect_ gentleman,” Hilda said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Claude knew for a fact that he was the primary instigator of the seemingly-nightly card or dice games in the army, and had managed to rack up even _more_ gambling debts. 

“So, I’m guessing you can’t spare those troops anymore,” Claude said, gesturing down at the assembled Almyran forces.

“I wish I could. But I’ve never seen them send an army _this_ organized. We’re usually dealing with loose bands of raiders - that, I can handle with a small garrison. If they attack with _those_ numbers, I’ll need everyone I can get!”

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll fly out and see what they want.” 

Holst blinked at him. “You’ll… what?” 

“I’ll take a white flag and go _talk_ to them. The situation in Fodlan is already out of hand - we can’t afford Almyran attacks right now. If there’s any way to handle this without a battle, so much the better.”

“Your grandfather had strict orders against parleys with the enemy.” This was it, the moment of truth. Luckily, Holst just shrugged and said, “But who cares about politics? I’m at your command, Duke Riegan. Whatever you think is best.” 

“Seems kinda dangerous, flying out there alone. You think they’ll respect a flag of truce?” Balthus asked, eyeing Claude with entirely too much suspicion.

“Of course they will. With Claude, everything always goes _according to plan_ ,” Hilda said, with a significance that eluded her brother and bodyguard, but Claude didn’t fail to understand. He winked at her as he whistled for a wyvern.

* * *

Later, when Holst and Nader were deep in their cups and swapping boisterous tales of their glorious feats in battle, Hilda found Claude. He was back on the battlements, scratching his “new” snow-white wyvern under the chin, watching the Almyran troops pass peacefully through the gates of the mountain fortress. 

“How’s the feast going?” 

“My brother and the _Almyran general you’ve never seen before_ are both absolutely inseparable. You couldn’t have planned it better.” 

Claude grinned at her. “I’m sensing some skepticism, here. You wound me, Hilda. I’ve never met Nader in my life.” 

“Just like you’ve never met this wyvern?”

“Complete and total strangers,” he said, which was severely undercut by Mahtab humming and butting her head into his hand. 

Hilda folded her arms and frowned severely at him. “I get why you couldn’t come out and tell Holst - but what did you think _I’d_ have done to try to stop you?”

“It’s not like that. I know you’re on my side, I just…” Claude sighed. “Look where we’re standing! The Locket’s stood between Fodlan and Almyra for generations. It’s hard to see other people for what they are when you build walls against them.” 

“Most everyone in the Alliance would say you’re crazy for taking their help,” Hilda agreed. “But the Golden Deer, we’re your _friends_. We trust you. You can do the same for us.” 

“You’re right. I’ve been laying the groundwork for this for a long time. Honestly, I hope that by the end of my time here, your brother’s job isn’t even necessary. Almyra can be a friend to the Alliance - to all of Fodlan.” 

“Well, you’re changing things as Duke Riegan. Maybe if Almyra gets a new, open-minded King, they’ll change faster,” Hilda said, with an innocent expression that didn’t fool Claude for a moment. 

“We can hope. But I hear that their royal succession is… complicated. Even if someone’s mother is the Queen, they need to stand out against the other claimants.” 

“By doing something like... winning a war?” 

“Something like that might help,” Claude agreed.

“Well, if you _happen_ to see your mother again after this war, I hope you’ll ask her to visit!” Hilda said in a loud whisper. “A lot of people in the Alliance think she deserved better. And her story would play well at the Roundtable - knowing she’s the Queen and treated with proper respect, I mean. Makes Almyra seem _civilized._ ” 

“That’s a good idea,” Claude admitted. His instincts to keep the two halves of his life as far away as possible had worked against him, here - he’d never even considered that Tiana could be a convincing advocate.

“See? I’m _full_ of good ideas. This is why you need to tell me things.” 

“Yeah. Look - I’m sorry.” 

Hilda gave him an exaggerated wink and started talking at a normal volume again. “ _Anyway_ , I just sent a message to Margrave Edmund to ask permission to move the army back through his territory, like you asked.” 

Realistically, Claude could go anywhere he wanted, but the Roundtable lords were always prickly about their independence. Showing Edmund proper deference was worth it - anything that kept their three-vote bloc together. 

He looked up and spotted a messenger bird swooping down. Claude frowned. “That can’t be his reply already…” 

It wasn’t. It was a good deal worse.

“We need to break up the party and get marching - fast,” Claude said, once he’d scanned the letter. 

“What’s wrong?”

“The Great Bridge has already fallen. Edelgard attacked in force, and with Dimitri and his army gone… it was hopeless. Seteth retreated, like I asked. He minimized casualties, but now she’s got a free path to Derdriu.” 

Hilda nodded, her expression snapping into grim focus. “I’ll get them moving.” 

“Before you go - I need House Goneril’s fastest pegasus rider. She needs to fly straight to Fhirdiad with the news.” 

“But Dimitri won’t even be there yet!” 

“He’ll take the city quickly and come back for us. We just need to tell him where he’s marching,” Claude said, with much more confidence than he felt. If Dimitri took too long, this would all be for nothing. 

But Hilda was right. It was time to start putting faith in his friends. 

Although… he could dress it up like that, but the truth was, Edelgard had limited his other moves. This was the only piece Claude had left to play. 

He just hoped it would work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just inched up to becoming my most viewed fic, AND the comment stats blow the other one out of the water - about 3x as many despite similar total views. Thank you all the engagement!


	20. Chapter 20

Edelgard arrived at Derdriu in a matter of days, encountering no resistance. Claude could have dragged it out by ordering attacks on her flanks and supply chain, but he’d ordered the opposite. He didn’t want to invite retaliation on the ordinary people of the Alliance. 

If the capital didn’t hold, the war was lost, regardless. 

And if he lost… Maybe other commanders wouldn’t make the most important battle plan of their life with an “out,” but Claude did. The Alliance had put a lot of trust in him, but if it came right down to it, he’d save his own skin. 

_If_ he lost, he wanted to make sure that the Empire had no excuse for reprisals against the ordinary people in their ordinary villages. 

The situation appeared so desperate that it created silver linings. When he flew back into the city with a detachment of Almyran wyvern riders, barely anyone seemed to care. And when the Almyran navy sailed into the port and started loading civilians onto their ships, most of them went without a word of protest. 

Amazing what a genuine crisis could do for long-held prejudices. 

Edelgard sent a messenger to ask for a personal conference with Claude. He expected she’d demand an unconditional surrender, but he went anyway. If nothing else, he could stall for a couple of hours; and he was genuinely curious to see her again.

She’d not grown an inch in five years, and under other circumstances, he might’ve been amused to note that the Emperor’s armor appeared to have lifts built into the boots. Okay, he was still amused, but stopped himself from commenting. 

At her side was an enormous axe. It resembled one of the Relic weapons, the same unnatural contours and color, but it was nothing he’d ever read about before. Two Crest stones of unfamiliar design were set in the weapon. Could Arundel and his mysterious group create something like that? Or was this Hanneman’s doing? 

“You’ve more forces than our intelligence suggested,” she said, by way of introduction. She was looking at the harbor, where the Almyran ships openly flew their flags.

“What can I say? I make friends wherever I go.” Claude stretched, projecting as much of a relaxed posture as he could. He sized up her own forces out of the corner of his eye. It took only a moment to see her army was much too large. He couldn’t win this one on his own - even with Nader and his men. 

_Hurry up, Dimitri._

“There’s more to you than you let on at the Academy… But it’s still not enough. You can’t win this battle,” Edelgard said. 

“I assume that’s why you called this little conference. Unless you just missed me. You’ve grown lovelier than ever in these past five years.” 

“You're not so unfortunate, yourself. But enough stalling, Claude. You know why I’m here. I can’t invade the Kingdom with the Alliance nipping at my heels. Surrender. Promise me the Alliance will be truly neutral, and no-one has to die today.”

“Just like that, huh?” 

“Of course, we would invite you to be our guest in Enbarr to ensure… compliance,” Hubert said. The years had not diminished his ability to issue silky threats one bit, it seemed. Claude winked at him. 

“And the Church? As I’m sure you know, the main force of the Knights of Seiros are with us.” 

“They will be taken to Enbarr, but imprisoned, nothing more. I don’t know what lies you’ve been told, but I have nothing against their faith. It is only the institution itself that cannot continue.” 

Claude shrugged. “Maybe that’s true for you. But the people holding your leash… I’m not so sure about that. It seems personal to them.” 

Edelgard’s composure slipped a little; she huffed out an angry breath and glared at him. “Whatever you think you know, I assure you, you’re mistaken.”

“Oh, naturally, once you finish this war, they’re next.” He spoke quietly enough that only the three of them could hear it. “Use them to conquer the whole continent, then purge them; it’s a clever plan. But risky. What if they make the first move?”

“Your fears are unfounded. I have this in hand,” Hubert hissed. 

“Sure. But meanwhile, the people of the Alliance are left to their tender mercy while you're invading the Kingdom. I won’t allow for more suffering like that of House Ordelia. I can’t accept it. And I’d think that _you_ would feel the same way.”

Edelgard didn’t look surprised that he’d make the connection, and her face was grim. “There is no other way. But I will minimize everyone's pain by winning the war quickly.”

“There _is_ another way. Turn on them - right now.” 

“And leave my territory open to you and your Almyran raiders? Or the mad beast you’ve allied yourself with?” 

“Those are the risks you take when you start a war,” Claude said. “But all of us have a common enemy. Dimitri will listen - they killed his entire family! The Church clearly can’t abide them, either.” 

Edelgard considered it - for just a moment. Then she shook her head. “No. The Church allowed this. Corruption festered for a thousand years under their rule. The obsession with Crests caused untold suffering. It must be destroyed, and even if your honeyed words sway the Alliance, the Kingdom will never agree to that. I won’t allow the Knights of Seiros to slip away when they are finally within my grasp.” 

“So be it,” Claude sighed. He hadn’t really expected that particular gambit to work - but hey, at least it had kept her talking for a few more precious minutes. “I’ll look for you on the battlefield. Killing you will end this quickly.” 

She offered him a grim smile and hefted the axe, practically larger than her entire body, with one hand. “Same to you.” 

* * *

Calling it a battle gave it more glory than it deserved. 

Derdriu was a city, and the hastily constructed fortifications didn’t change the essential fact that it was street to street fighting. Crowded, chaotic, and ugly. At least Claude had managed to get the civilians out of the way. 

The skies, too, were thick with fighters from both sides, Almyran’s wyvern riders tangling with the Empire’s pegasii legions. Claude would have joined them, but knew full well that a white wyvern would only cause confusion, since its color matched that of the flying steeds. It would only take one soldier operating on instinct to cut him down. 

Instead, he flew low, quickly intervening wherever he saw defenders in need. For a short while, his personal intervention worked to stem the tide. But it couldn’t last. 

Edelgard herself entered the city at the head of another mass of troops. Claude could see the great axe glowing unnaturally even from a distance. Whenever she swung it, she seemed to move with superhuman speed, cutting through multiple defenders in mere moments. Whatever that thing was, it had the same power as a full Relic weapon - that much was clear. 

The defenses crumbled before her. Despite Claude’s best efforts, the retreat into the harbor was threatening to become a rout. 

Then Hilda stepped onto the single bridge, her own Relic axe in her hands.

“What are you doing?” Claude shouted, flying down next to her. 

“ _Honestly_ , you’re so helpless without me. I guess I’ll just hold the bridge for a while so you can escape.” She said it lightly enough, but he could see it in her eyes - she knew buying them enough time would cost her life. 

“No way. Two Relics are better than one.” He jumped from Mahtab, readying Failnaught and his arrows. 

“Three is even better!” Lorenz looked grim, despite his bluster. He waved Thyrsus in a complex pattern that launched a blast of magical fire in a long arc. A wall of unnatural flames temporarily blocked the entire Empire army, buying them precious seconds. 

“Claude, I’m serious. Get out of here,” Hilda grumbled. 

“ _I’m_ serious. My life isn’t worth more than any of yours. We live or die, together.” He'd planned to turn tail and run if it got to this stage, but the idea of letting Hilda die to let that happen... Claude found he couldn't do it. 

Ingatz, Raphael, Lystheia, Marianne, Leonie… Claude nodded at each of them in turn. If he’d miscalculated, every one of them would die here. Ferdinand, Caspar, and Linhardt would probably be taken prisoner, if only to be more publicly executed as the traitors they were. Byleth and the other Knights would refuse to surrender, and receive no quarter. And gods only knew what “Arundel” would do with Seteth and Flayn. 

Hubert’s sickly dark magic cut a path through the flames. Edelgard stepped through first, axe raised high. Claude fired straight at her, Failnaught enchanting the arrow with its power, but Hubert was faster, Warping the bolt into nothingness before it could hit his liege. Behind them, the Imperial troops massed - more than enough to overwhelm the small band that held the bridge. 

Then the blast of a horn broke through the din of battle.

In the sky above them, Nader laughed, loud enough for all of them to hear. “It worked, boy! I see their banners!” 

“Ah… That’d be Dimitri,” Claude said, with a wink at Edelgard. Adrenaline coursed through him, now that his risky gambit had actually worked. “You should probably go look into that.” 

The thundering of hooves announced the Kingdom knights’ arrival - a charge that cut through the Imperial infantry clustered into the narrow streets. They had nowhere to go, and not enough room to make defensive formations. Their inevitable victory over the Alliance had been turned into the perfect trap. 

Edelgard lifted her axe as if to fight the entire Kingdom army by herself, but Hubert grabbed her shoulder. Over her obvious protests, he Warped them both away - leaving the rest of their army to its fate. 

Dimtri, at the head of his column of knights, trotted up to the bridge on a huge and armored white horse. He’d ditched the all-black and battered mail from before, and was wearing a set of silver armor and a long blue cloak with the Crest of his family set on it. At the same time, his whole bearing was different - more relaxed and at ease than the last several months. 

“Your Majesty, I assume? Guessing the Kingdom doesn’t go in for crowns. Extra fancy armor is far more its style,” Claude said, with a grin. 

“There was little time for a formal coronation. A mere hour after we slew Cornelia and drove the Empire out of the capital, your messenger arrived. We could only rest the horses for a few hours before riding out again.” Dimitri dismounted, handing the horse’s reins to an aide, and clapped Claude on the shoulder. “Just in time, it appears.” 

“Yeah, I’m glad you hurried. Another few minutes there and it wouldn’t have made a difference.” Claude gestured at the harbor, site of their almost last-stand. The ships full of civilians were starting to come back in now that it was all clear. “How did you leave things in the Kingdom?” 

“Count Bergliez and what's left of their army retreated to Arianrhod, but Rodrigue and Sylvain’s father are massing troops in the capital. The western lords who defected are lining up to plea for mercy - they won’t stand in our way. Once the Count is dealt with, the Kingdom will be restored in full.” 

Dimitri stepped closer to Claude, lowering his voice. “What about Edelgard? Was she… here?” 

Claude nodded, searching Dimitri’s eyes. Not a hint of the previous madness when he’d spoken of her - concern, mostly. “Hubert Warped her out of here. They’ll be halfway back to Enbarr by now.” 

“I shouldn’t be relieved, but… part of me is. I’d like a chance to parley with her.”

“I gave it a shot before the battle, actually.” Claude recounted their conversation in a whisper. Even here, he wasn’t ruling out the possibility of Arundel’s spies. 

“So, I assume she knew about Duscur… but she doesn’t work with the perpetrators willingly.” 

“It adds up. Those experiments… She was their instrument of revenge, nothing more. Or so they thought.”

Dimitri smiled grimly. “Yes… they underestimated her. Edelgard is no fool, and has resolve enough to challenge the goddess herself.” 

“ _That_ seems to be the main issue. She can’t envision a real future for Fodlan with the Church’s power intact.” Claude looked at the prince - the king - with some interest. His own plans didn’t have much room for an all-powerful Archbishop, either. 

“She has the right to make that decision in Adrestia, but not for all Fodlan. Still… perhaps we can yet find some middle ground. I would like to speak to her myself - though I appreciate your own efforts, of course, Claude.” 

“Sure. This was a significant victory for us, and now we have the momentum. Maybe the next time we talk, it’ll be different.” Privately, Claude very much doubted it, but Dimitri was stubborn. He wouldn’t let this rest until he’d tried to get Edelgard to stand down, too. 

“So… Almyra sent troops to help defend the capital? I confess, I didn’t expect that. The people of the Alliance must be surprised, as well. I’d heard they were persistent enemies,” Dimitri said, glancing over at the foreign ships. 

“Well, you know, I’ve been working on that for a while. Diplomacy goes a long way, and…” Claude hesitated. After everything that had happened today, almost losing all of his friends, Dimitri rescuing them at the last moment, while seeming so much better than before… His first instinct was still to lie about it, but what kind of future would that be? It wasn’t fair to his friends - _or_ Dimitri. Not if he was serious about forgiving the guy and rekindling what they’d had. 

“No, actually, there’s more to it. I have something to tell you.” 

Dimitri turned back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“They came because I asked. Not the ‘me’ who’s leader of the Alliance… but the ‘me’ who’s prince of Almyra.” 

He expected shock. Maybe anger at the deception. He _didn’t_ expect Dimitri to just smile at him. “Yes, I know.”

“You _know_?” 

“You seem upset about it. Is there… something specific that’s an issue?” 

“What do you mean, _you know_? I’ve never told anyone that! Nobody knows!” Claude couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Dimitri shrugged. “My uncle was… not a good regent. Early into his reign, I took it upon myself to become familiar with government - and all of my peers. I heard the gossip around Tiana von Riegan absconding with an Almyran, and realized that you must be her son when we met at the Academy. How else would a new Riegan heir spring from nowhere? I’m mostly surprised that you say _the_ prince as opposed to _a_ prince - from what I understand, Almyra doesn’t have a single heir apparent?” 

Claude blinked at him. “Uh, yeah, we don’t, but the king - my father - makes his desires known. These forces are a sign of his favor and… No, hang on, I can’t do this. You not only _knew_ , you _knew for five years_?” 

“I’m not an idiot, Claude. Your reasons for keeping it quiet were obvious - I’d spent four years seeing how cruelly Dedue was treated. I would have told you it did not matter to me, but you were more comfortable with the deception, so...” Dimitri shrugged again, but the smile on his face had widened into a full grin. He was enjoying being a step ahead of Claude for the first time, the _jerk._

“‘Comfortable with the deception!’ If you could guess it, I wasn’t nearly as good as I thought.” Claude cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted, “LORENZ! I NEED YOU!” 

“Whatever it is, I am certain it doesn’t require this level of raucous shouting,” the noble said, detaching himself from his conversation with a Kingdom knight and walking over to the pair of them. “Yes?”

“Did _you_ know?” 

Lorenz gave an exasperated sigh. “Know… what?”

“That I’m the prince of Almyra!” 

Lorenz’s mouth dropped open. “Pardon me!?” 

“Thank the gods, I still fooled _someone_ ,” Claude said. He left Lorenz (spluttering a series of questions one after the other) and Dimitri (still grinning like an idiot, damn him) behind, leaping onto Mahtab’s back and taking off to join Nader and the other riders.

“They figured it out!” he shouted at his old weapons tutor, voice carrying over the wind. 

“Ha! They’re not as foolish as you thought!” 

“Some of them, anyway!” Hilda hadn’t been fooled for a second, and Dimitri… He hadn’t just talked a big game about Duscur. He actually meant it. Naive as it was, he’d not treated the boy he’d known to be half-Almyran any differently from the person Claude pretended to be. 

Yeah. He could work with that. 

Claude flew in a lazy circle over the city. Many of the great buildings were in smoking ruins, but as he watched the people of the Kingdom and Duscur, of the Alliance and Almyra, the faithless and faithful, all working together to clear away the rubble and put things to right… Well. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially no Gronder. I thought about the best way to mash up all the routes at once and figured CF's attack on Derdriu synced up well with AM having you go save it. But that leaves Arundel/Thales at large...


	21. Chapter 21

After their victory at Derdriu, the army returned to Garreg Mach. Claude left Nader and his wyvern riders in charge of re-capturing the Great Bridge; it would keep them busy, which was good, because a bored Almyran raider was a potential liability. In the meantime, the monastery’s central location made it the best place to meet with the new reinforcements from the western Kingdom. Plus, the vast Abyss was a handy location for storing the many, many prisoners they’d taken in the last two battles.

Claude was not Rhea - he wouldn’t shove everyone down there indefinitely. Once Edelgard surrendered (or - sadly, far more likely - was killed) and exchanges could be worked out with whatever interim authority followed her, he intended to send them home. 

If he was one of the prisoners, he would have been skeptical, but he’d given them no good reason to distrust him so far. He and Dimitri even returned Fleche to her brother’s care, despite the attempted assassination. Some of the older Kingdom knights grumbled that she should receive more punishment, but the new Dimitri had no patience for blood and vengeance. He even apologized to Randolph, which was exceedingly awkward for everyone involved. 

Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier laid siege to Arianrhod, writing to inform Dimitri that Count Bergliez had refused his terms and intended to fight to the death. In the long term, his position was impossible, but the fortress was well equipped to hold out for weeks, if not months. He couldn’t win, but he _could_ stall, and prevent the Kingdom from lending its full forces to the united army. 

“He’s pretty bold, considering how much of his family we have as our prisoners,” Claude mused as they looked over the letter. 

Caspar, who they’d invited to consult on his father’s state of mind, snorted. “The second he found out I defected, he put a bounty on me. And it wasn't even very high! If Shamir hadn’t tipped us off, Lin and I could’ve been killed in our sleep!”

“Okay, so much for sending you over there to negotiate.” 

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to go anywhere _near_ him. I feel like you’re not understanding how scary he is.” 

Caspar didn’t even seem to consider the fact that it might be his last chance to talk to his father. Frightened and awestruck in equal measure, he had a simple faith that the Count would somehow beat the odds and escape the siege. 

Dimitri had ordered him taken alive, if possible, but it was really up to the elder Bergliez. Claude was getting the distinct impression he’d rather die than surrender. He sighed, but didn’t push the matter. With a war on, he didn’t have time to keep manipulating everyone - even if it would be for their own good. 

* * *

Once the western Kingdom troops arrived, they made preparations to depart. The Empire hadn’t left many troops at the Bridge - all reports indicated they’d be making that stand at the far more defensible Fort Merceus. Nader sent a confident message that it would be in friendly hands by the time they arrived. 

Claude was supervising everything from the battlements when Sylvain approached him. Felix’s condition had improved to the point that he insisted on going with them to Merceus, meaning Sylvain would be as well. Two more Relics in their army’s arsenal. Claude figured it was high time to see if the stories of them being powerful enough to shatter mountains meant they’d work on iron gates and stone walls. 

“That wasn’t all I came to tell you,” Sylvain added. “Look… I’m sorry about what I said. Treating us as pawns. Maybe you were, a little, but if you’d _really_ committed to it, you’d have let Dimitri march off to his death. Soften up the Empire for you.”

“You think I’d go that low? You know how I feel about him.”

“I know how you feel about _Dimitri_ , but he wasn’t, uh, himself.”

Claude acknowledged his point with a nod. Ordinarily, he might have kept denying it, but Sylvain was cynical and perceptive enough to cut through his act. “Okay. I _thought_ about it. But I’m not here to conquer Fodlan. I just want an equal and willing partner once this war ends. Real friends are better than pawns.” 

“Once you’re king of Almyra, right.” The story was spreading quickly, and Claude hadn’t tried to stop it. Derdriu had changed everything. The first shipment of relief supplies arrived on Almyran vessels, and even Count Gloucester had to admit their assistance was welcome. Nader and his troops were on their best behavior, too. There was a reason Claude had wanted his old weapons master leading the detachment. 

“Do you know anything about Sreng?” Sylvain continued. 

Claude shook his head. “I only took that one trip up to confront the Wind Caller - didn’t run into many of the people. And Almyran ships have landed there, but there’s little to trade for - or plunder - so they didn’t take much interest.”

“There’s always been tension at the northern border, and it’s always been my family’s job to protect us. But it’s getting worse. About twenty years ago, Dimitri’s father conquered a bunch of their territory, claiming it for the Kingdom. They did _not_ like that. We’ve been blocking our settlers for their own protection - the first group to try were massacred.” 

Claude could see why Sylvain had come to him, even if the situations weren’t exactly the same. “You don’t seem to blame them for it.” 

“Nah. What would our own nobles do if a foreign army came in and said their ancestral lands weren’t theirs anymore? Dimitri needs to give it back - maybe then they’ll be willing to sit down and talk about a treaty.” 

“I don’t think he’ll need much convincing. But the rest of the Kingdom will. Two hundred plus years of prejudice isn’t easy to overcome.” 

“Yeah, you know all about that… So, I mean, what would you suggest? You got Almyran and Alliance soldiers fighting side by side in under five years. If anyone can help me, it’s you.”

Claude laughed. “Honestly, without Edelgard’s invasion, I don’t know _when_ I’d have been able to pull something like this off. But I tried to make sure the groundwork was still there regardless. People fear and hate what they don’t understand. The Church’s policy of isolation keeps other countries as this total unknown - we only see each other at our worst, when raiders or bandits or soldiers clash at the borders.” 

Sylvain didn’t object to the casual dismissal of Church doctrine. He just nodded. “The whole damn reason the Gautiers can’t abide an heir without a Crest. The reason Miklan was… well, anyway. It doesn’t _need_ to be this way. Not if we can make peace with them.” 

“I don’t know much about Sreng - but hey, that’s the starting point. Find out what they’re really like, what their values are. Are they isolated clans? Or do they have some sort of government? Once you figure _that_ out, invite their most important leaders to visit the Kingdom, and vice-versa. They’re just people - start talking to them.” He shrugged. “Sorry I don’t have anything more specific.” 

“No, that’s fine. That’s great, actually. Maybe it won’t work, but I need to try.” Sylvain sighed. “Edelgard isn’t wrong about the Crests… and if I pull it off…” 

“Maybe the war wasn’t for nothing. Without it, we’d never have had these opportunities,” Claude finished. He’d been thinking the same thing. Did the fact that they both saw the same silver lining mean that others would? Or maybe they shared a mutual foolish dream. Perhaps it was simply the human need to make something horrible into a _meaningful_ thing - to justify what they’d endured. 

“Yeah. Maybe. You know Dimitri is going to want her to live, right? Did he ever tell you about the dagger?” Sylvain smirked, clearly hoping to launch into the tale of his king’s fumbling attempts at childhood romance.

 _“Yes_ , he told me about the dagger.”

“Damn, he’s got it for you _bad_.” 

Claude waved that away for the moment. “We’ve talked about it. He’ll give her a chance to come to terms - but I can’t imagine that she’ll accept any compromise now.” 

“He’s too soft-hearted to be a good king,” Sylvain said, then sighed. “ _F_ _uck_ , I really sound like my old man.” 

“He kinda is,” Claude agreed. “But maybe that’s the exact type of king you’ll want after this war’s over.” 

“We can hope.” 

* * *

They continued to take it - whatever label you wanted to put on ‘it’ - slowly. Claude had always been quick to flirt, but rarely took it farther; it simply hadn’t been wise to let his guard down back in Almyra. Assassins used all _kinds_ of methods. And, of course, Dimitri was hopelessly inexperienced. 

Claude also wrestled with the same reluctance to fully re-commit himself, though Dimitri’s change for the better appeared to be sticking. No longer pushing his friends away, he found time for all of them during the march back to the Great Bridge. And during that first night, he spent hours in Claude’s tent. Nothing happened - just talking, but the kind of talk that _needed_ to happen. Not about his madness or the war, but what it was like growing up in Almyra versus Faerghus... including their most embarrassing childhood stories. 

When they stopped for an evening meal by the campfire on the second night out, it was _almost_ like being back at school. No grand dining hall, but friends from three different classes, all gathered together, talking about inconsequential things.

Yuri and his Wolves had been out on patrol, but returned halfway through the dinner and joined them around the fire. 

Claude didn’t have much of a read on Hapi, who largely kept to herself. He knew she’d been some sort of experimental victim of their enemies, though not the same type as Edelgard and Lystheia. No, she’d been tormented by Cornelia, and gone with Dimitri to confront and kill her. Some rumors were that she could summon demonic beasts; others said that they flocked to her against her will. Either way, people kept their distance. Ashe was the only one Claude had noticed spending significant time with her - that guy could make friends with _anyone_. 

Constance was much easier, since she loudly proclaimed her life story and goals to anyone who would listen. Claude had half-expected her to side with the Empire - but then again, Edelgard’s plan to demolish the old nobility would mean the end of any hope of restoring the von Nuevelles. She and Ferdinand were both on a short but critical list of imperial defectors that Claude wanted in charge of Adrestia once this was all over. The pair of them bickered like the old friends they were, but it didn't keep them from being effective. 

Yuri remained as inscrutable as ever. He wanted to find Rhea as badly as any Knight, but rarely joined in their prayer vigils. To him, it was personal. Also personal: the fate of Count Varley, Bernadetta’s father. He’d wrangled a promise out of Claude that he, Yuri, be the one to decide the man’s fate. Claude couldn’t fathom why - though he guessed that somewhere in Yuri’s past, as crowded as it was mysterious, Varley had done him some injury. 

Balthus… was the same as he always was, for better or worse. Mostly worse. To Claude’s annoyance, the larger man stomped over to where he and Dimitri sat, speaking loudly enough for anyone to overhear. 

“Do you know how _many_ bounty hunters would’ve paid off all my debts for the information on your true parentage? Because it was a lot. You’re welcome, pal.” 

“Let me guess, you want compensation for doing me such a big favor? Forget it,” Claude laughed. “You didn’t hold back out of kindness. You’re just afraid of Holst.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Balthus admitted. “I’m mostly surprised nobody else saw it. Then again, I spent a lot of time looking at Tiana - like, _wow_. And I see the family resemblance,” he added with a leer.

“Seriously? That’s your best pickup line? Has that _ever_ worked for you?” 

“With a body _this_ good, who needs lines?” 

Claude turned to roll his eyes at Dimitri, only to find that he was the only one still seated on the log. He frowned and stood in turn.

“Balthie,” Hilda said severely. “He’s saving himself for Dima, can’t you tell?”

“Hilda!” Marianne gasped. 

“What? Am I _wrong_?” 

The king hadn’t gone far. Claude found him at the top of a low hill, a few yards away from their camp. There was a full moon overhead, and the night sky was clear of obscuring clouds. Nice view, really. 

“Don’t tell me you let _Balthus_ , of all people, get under your skin. I don’t even like him.”

Dimitri sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t even a good line.”  
  
“It was a _horrible_ line.” 

“It’s not about Balthus. Not really. It just reminded me that I am particularly bad at… this. I envy your confidence. Besides, with everything I’ve done, I don’t deserve-” 

“Stop right there,” Claude said. “Self-loathing? Not attractive. Not healthy, either. Sure, you messed up, but wallowing isn’t fair to either of us.” 

Dimitri nodded. “Yes. You’re right, of course. You’ve helped me so much already that I sometimes feel guilty for wanting more, but…” 

“We _both_ want something more. Nothing wrong with that.” Claude put a hand on Dimitri’s face and turned the king to face him. 

That was their first kiss, a private moment under the full moon. 

At least until Hilda started cheering, and gave away that everyone had been staring at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to do 2 chapters a week but fell behind, theoretically because of homework but actually because I bought Awakening and am playing it, lol.
> 
> We're in the end-game though; I think this will be about 25-26 chapters total, though it may get longer if the mood strikes.


	22. Chapter 22

Fort Merceus. The most forbidding fortress in all of Fodlan - save, perhaps, for Arianrhod. Of course the allied armies needed to take both of them to win this war. While their troops in the west could always starve Bergliez out if needed, Claude and Dimitri didn’t have that luxury. The Kingdom, Alliance, and Church combined could only field an army large enough to _equal_ the forces that Edelgard still had on hand. A long siege would just give her time to recover from her defeat and plan another devastating attack. 

“I don’t suppose he’s interested in surrendering?” The infamous Death Knight had command of the fort, but even so, Claude had attempted to give him a chance.

“He didn’t even get our message. They fired a warning shot at our messenger as she approached the gates.” Seteth pursed his lips in disapproval. 

“Damn. Even though he’s going up against his own sister.”

Mercedes had confessed everything to them. Apparently, she (and Caspar, of all people) had stumbled into Jeritza/Emile/the Death Knight a couple days previously, in a small forest bordering the fortress. He’d given her their family Relic, but refused to defect - just asked her to avoid fighting him for her own sake. 

Dimitri shook his head. “I’m glad we gave him that chance, but he’s made his choice. Now, how do we want to approach this?” 

“If it was _just_ me, I’d plan something suitably sneaky, but they know we’re here,” Claude said. Hiding an army as large as theirs had become was impossible, anyway. “Simple is best. Send most of our troops and our Relics to crack those gates open. Once they’re nice and bothered, Nader and I fly over on the other side.” 

“Caspar and Linhardt grew up here, didn’t they? If they don’t know of any secret passages, I agree that a conventional attack is our only option,” Seteth said. 

“Nothing doing. Caspar said he wouldn’t know even if they _did_ exist, and Linhardt said he never found any.”

“A frontal assault, then,” Dimitri agreed. “Dawn? They will not be surprised either way, and it’s safer if we can see clearly.” 

“I’ll begin our preparations,” Seteth said, nodding at them both before departing. Throughout this damn war, Claude mused, there was nothing more reassuring than hearing those words from the former Archbishop’s administrator. Supplies arrived on time, weapons were kept in excellent quality, and troop formations were perfect. 

Ironically, the aftermath of these high-level strategy sessions between just the three of them were now the only times that Dimitri and Claude could be alone. There was simply too much to do. Quite aside from planning out the war, both were kept busy.

Dimitri had near-literal mountains of paperwork, a five-year backlog of all the Kingdom’s affairs. Meanwhile, Claude was constantly coordinating the purchase of more food and supplies from Almyran merchants. The Empire’s army had lived off the land on their way to Deirdru, but the Kingdom far more pitiful state, after five years of the war ravaging its already insufficient farmland. A lot of people wouldn’t survive the winter without help. 

But they could afford a few stolen moments before their respective duties pulled them away, and for now, that was enough. 

* * *

The siege was over quickly. It turned out the Relics’ prowess had _not_ been exaggerated. And when Annette returned from Dominic territory with yet another ancestral family weapon, their army had all ten of them - plus three more that had been left out of the Church’s version of history. It was easy to see why Nemesis and the Elites had been such a formidable group. Merceus’ gates didn’t last five minutes.

It was a hopeless battle, even for the Death Knight. His sister was on the other side, and they’d offered him terms of surrender. But something kept him fighting - was it fanatic loyalty to Edelgard? Bloodlust? Both? They'd never know. 

It could only end one way. Lystheia blasted the horse out from under him with a spear of Dark Magic. In the confusion that followed, Claude didn’t see who struck the final blow. By the time Mercedes reached her brother’s side, it was too late to heal the fatal injury. They all withdrew to give her a modicum of privacy. 

“These Relics are something else, huh.” 

“Yes… if the legendary Fort Merceus fell this quickly, the palace in Enbarr will be no refuge,” Dimitri mused.

“She does have one of her own,” Claude cautioned, and described the axe that seemed to grant Edelgard unnatural speed in combat. 

“But it’s still hopeless. Surely she’ll see that.” 

“Her pride may demand she die on the battlefield rather than give up on her dream for Fodlan.” 

Dimitri nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll advance to the outskirts of Enbarr, then ask her out to talk. Just the three of us, so Arundel can’t slip any of his spies in. I want to give her every chance. But, if she insists on fighting…” 

“We can’t hesitate to kill her,” Claude finished for him, hoping the king would be less reluctant to do it then it was to say it. “Not if it puts our friends in danger.” 

“Yes. You’re right.” 

* * *

In the end, it was not the three of them, if only because Hubert insisted on coming with his liege. To quiet their army’s fears, Dimitri brought Dedue for protection; Claude asked Hilda, partly because she was an incredibly capable warrior, but mostly because she would _love_ to be there first-hand to gossip about it later. 

Dimitri was blithely confident there would be no betrayal, but Claude was a student of history. It wouldn’t be the first time that enemy leaders were slaughtered under a flag of truce. It wouldn’t even be the first time Edelgard had wanted to attack them while they were isolated; he thought back to those bandits, five years ago. 

But they arrived at the appointed destination and found no ambush - just the Emperor and her advisor, waiting impatiently.

“Well, well. It's been a long time, Dimitri.” 

“Edelgard,” he said with a nod. “Part of me doubted you’d come.” 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have. You didn’t bring anyone from the Church, so I fail to see what we have to discuss. Claude knows my conditions.”

Dimtri sighed. “Yes, he told me that you want to see it destroyed. But why start this war? Couldn’t you have changed things in your territory without causing so much needless death?” 

Edelgard shook her head. “It may be hard to believe, but this way will lead to the fewest casualties in the end.”

“Because of _them_. They’d start the war, whether you wanted it or not,” Claude said. He’d thought about this for a long time, and it was the only thing that made sense. “Duscur was their doing. Godfrey Riegan’s death was their doing. Cornelia was in place. The board was assembled six years ago. The only choice you had left was taking command and minimizing the harm they did.” 

Hubert nodded at Claude, respecting his ability to reason through the problem, if nothing else. “ _Those Who Slither In the Dark_ ,” he intoned, which would have been funny if he wasn’t so deadly serious about his overly-dramatic naming conventions. 

“Yes… it all comes together. I blamed you for Duscur for so long, but you were just a child, the same as me. The dark ones made sure I would survive, but be fixated on revenge against the ‘Flame Emperor.’ Then they gave you that mask and title, confident I would get myself killed in my pursuit of vengeance.” Dimitri sighed. “It very nearly worked.” 

Edelgard drew herself up to her full height, though that still wasn’t very much. “You’re assuming that I am just another victim… or their pawn. I am _not_. I know exactly what they are, and I _chose_ to use them.” 

Behind Dimitri, Dedue scowled at her, but said nothing. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Claude lifted his hands. Well, Dimitri had been, but he should’ve known it would just insult her pride. “We all have reasons to hate them. And their usefulness to you is at its end. They didn’t stop us from pinning you back in Enbarr.” 

“El, please… Tell us where they are, and we will help you wipe them out. We can avenge my family… and yours,” Dimitri said quietly.

His use of the childhood nickname only drew a frown. “The girl you knew back then is gone. As good as dead. And you’re still thinking like the little boy you were. _They_ are to blame for my family’s death - but they are _not_ the only ones who contributed. The Church and its fixation on Crests created this corrupt world, where the leading nobles of the Empire would hand _children_ over to be tortured to death.” 

“So banish the Church from Adrestia afterwards. Make it the condition for releasing Rhea. I know you have her - you must be keeping her away from ‘Arundel,’” Claude said. 

Hubert nodded again. “I can’t say she’s been treated with the honor befitting her position, but she is alive, which is better than she would be under _his_ care.” 

“You’re asking me to leave the rest of Fodlan under the Church’s rule.” 

“No. Fodlan is changing, whether Rhea wants it to or not. Our neighbors don’t need to be our enemies. The Church can either modify its doctrine, or it can get out of the way, because I won’t let it stop me,” Claude said firmly.

Edelgard studied him in silence for a moment, then nodded. “I used to think you were one of his. A mysterious heir out of nowhere? It was the exact type of ploy they’d attempt.” 

“Oh, sure. I never opened up, ‘confirming’ your suspicion. Maybe if we’d been a little more willing to talk back then, we wouldn’t be here now.” 

“Perhaps,” she said, though her tone indicated that she didn’t believe it.

“Claude is right. I will give the people of Duscur and Sreng their lands back. Claude will secure an alliance with Almyra. You and Petra can ensure the same for Brigid,” Dimitri urged. “Without the continual attacks on our borders, the obsession with Crests will fade in time.” 

“A pretty story, but that’s not good enough,” Edelgard said. “Not all of us have _time_.” 

“None of us are content to let Lystheia die. The second this war is over, we’ll devote everything we have to finding a cure for her.” Claude didn’t add the unspoken ‘and you.’ She was smart enough to get that. 

Dimitri didn’t add anything, only looked at her with the unspoken plea etched on his face.

“I cannot entrust Fodlan to you,” Edelgard said, after a long moment of silence. “It is not enough to hope for gradual change, when Rhea and her kind will outlive us all. Everything she built must be utterly destroyed, lest it worm its way back over us all.” 

“If you really thought that, you would’ve already killed her,” Claude said, but he knew it was over. She hadn’t yet walked away, but her expression was so remote and closed-off that she might as well be gone. 

“On the contrary. Once we defeat you - and deal with our dear friend, Lord Arundel - we will take your suggestion and use her life as a bargaining chip to end the fighting altogether,” Hubert said smoothly. 

“El, please don’t do this. You _can’t_ defeat us - this is pointless,” Dimitri pleaded.

“Don’t be so sure. I sent Petra, Dorothea, and Bernadetta to Brigid. A Dagdan delegation will meet them there. I’ve offered generous terms of alliance. You’ll soon find yourselves dealing with more than you bargained for.” 

“If that’s how you want to play this… I’ve nothing else to say,” Claude sighed. 

She nodded at him, then looked at Dimitri, her expression softening somewhat as she touched the dagger on her belt. “I never thanked you properly for the gift.”

“I’m still sorry. I should’ve given you something better,” he said with a frown. 

“No… it was kinder than you know. ‘In Faerghus, we use blades to cut a path to the future we want.’ I forgot you were my friend, but I never forgot that. I have taken my own path - and we will decide the future in battle.” 

Dimitri said nothing. Edelgard turned and walked away, Hubert following close behind her. 

“Sent them to Brigid… even if she did it as soon as she got back from Deirdru, they can’t hope to negotiate terms with Dagda, raise an army, and return in time,” Claude said into the sudden silence. “She sent them away to save their lives. The ‘mission’ was an excuse to get them to agree.” 

“So she doesn’t want anyone else to die for her? I guess that’s nice,” Hilda said, speaking up for the first time. 

Dimitri sighed. “ _She_ shouldn’t have to die.” 

Claude took one of his hands and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I know what she means to you.” 

“She is the only family I have left… No, that’s not right. I have you, and I have friends who are so close that family doesn’t begin to cover it.” The king managed a grim smile. “I won’t let anything happen to them… for their sake, we can’t hold back.” 

“Yeah…” 

It didn’t feel right. But there was nothing else for it. They’d given Edelgard every chance to turn aside from her chosen path, but now, there was only one way this could end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way the negotiation is written in AM gets a lot of flak for everyone talking past each other, but I don't think Edelgard would stand down even with all the cards on the table, personally. Her conviction is part of why she's such a great character.


	23. Chapter 23

The tables had turned, and they faced another battle in a city’s streets - except this time they would be the invaders. Wary of the success of his own desperate gamble, Claude dispatched scouts to fly far and wide in search of the supposed Brigid and Dagdan reinforcements. They covered a grid pattern - and saw no-one. Edelgard was truly alone.

That didn’t mean the fighting was easy. Enbarr was much larger than Deirdru, and she’d had longer to prepare the battleground. Every space that could be cleared now bristled with a ballista (or magical variant), while _Those Who Slither in the Dark_ (in Claude’s head, he could only hear the phrase in Hubert’s silky mutter) had provided a whole army of demonic beasts. 

And where Claude had evacuated every civilian he could, there were far too many left in the firing line this time around. Edelgard hardly had the ships to pull off his ploy, especially with the Almyran navy harassing the Empire’s supply lines. If she’d ordered an evacuation, though, not enough people had complied. Claude and Dimitri ordered their troops to spare the civilian houses, but the demonic beasts had no such hesitation, smashing whatever got in their way. Worse, some of the ordinary-looking houses were bristling with hidden Imperial archers. 

They had to break through to the palace - that much was obvious. The real struggle was minimizing casualties along the way. 

“Arundel” himself led the defenses, and the closer they got to the palace, the more they saw those masked mages in the enemy ranks. Rather than stand and fight to the death, though, the mages tended to cease lobbing Dark magic and Warp away the moment the allied army got too close to them. 

If Those Who Slither in the Dark escaped to fight another day, it could be potentially devastating for Fodlan. Claude searched frantically for Lystheia - she was probably the only one who stood a chance slowing Arundel down long enough to prevent _his_ escape. But it was no good; the fighting must have her pinned down somewhere he couldn’t see, even from the sky above.

When he flew back, Dimitri and the other Lions had cut their way through to the very gates of the palace, and stood mere feet from the dark one’s leader. 

“You raise a weapon against your own uncle? You’ve grown into a savage, just like your father,” Arundel hissed.

“You’re not my uncle. You killed and replaced him long ago. Die wearing your true face, or die a coward,” Dimitri said evenly, lifting Areadbhar to point at him. 

“I think not.”

In a sudden flash of Dark magic, the black horse Arundel had been riding was gone, replaced by a particularly large and ravenous demonic beast that sprang right at Dimitri. More beasts were Warped in moments later - obviously the spells had been laid down long in advance, a magical trap they’d walked straight into. 

It was hard fighting. Worse, in the confusion, there’d been no chance of keeping track of Arundel. By the time Ingrid swooped in and speared the final beast on Luin’s glowing tip, he was long gone.

Dimitri sighed. “He will be a problem later.” 

“At least he’s had to abandon a guise with immense political and military power,” Claude said, more hopeful than he felt. For all they knew, the man could be back in another disguise the next day. They just had to hope the process was less shape-shifting and more stealing another’s face and appearance - something that would take more time. 

“Worry about that later. We’ve still got an Emperor to kill,” Felix said, pushing past them with a bloody sword in each hand. 

The fighting in the city raged on, with individual knots of the Empire’s troops unaware that “Arundel” had fled and the battle was effectively over. Claude flagged down Seteth to manage the final cleanup. Hopefully, at least some of them would surrender instead of dying for no reason. 

“The army won’t do us much good in cramped indoor fighting. Better to take a small group,” Claude suggested when he’d finished giving the orders.

“I think our former classmates had the same idea,” Dimitri said with a grim half-smile. 

To Claude’s relief, all of them had made it through to the gates. Some were obviously worse for wear - Caspar and Raphael both sported serious burns from the magical assault, and an arrow had pierced Lorenz through the arm. Others sported more minor injuries, but they all insisted on coming along.

“Look. Each of us has some fond memory of our school days with Edelgard. If she can be convinced to surrender, I know we’d all prefer that. But if she doesn’t stand down… we can’t risk our lives by holding back. If you come with us, you need to be prepared to do what’s necessary,” Claude said, frowning. 

Ferdinand sighed. “We might wish it to be otherwise, but we all know better. She has resolved herself to this, and she will not relent.” 

None of the others spoke - just nodded grimly. Then Hilda demolished the palace gates with a single swing from Freikugel, and they stepped through.

* * *

The palace was packed with troops, dressed in the finest armor - Edelgard’s elite personal guard, Claude presumed. But even the best-trained soldiers were no match for them now. No mortal could match the full power of their Relic weapons. 

Hubert had laid other types of traps - magical circles, triggered by proximity, that flung fire or lightning at the group. After Caspar nearly lost his head to the first, Claude ordered a much more careful advance. Marianne could wash the traps away with her Silence spell, but only if she spotted them first. 

They were almost to the throne room before they encountered the man himself. Hubert stepped out of thin air behind them, hands covered with a miasma of dark magic. A half-dozen other mages Warped in after him, though not a type of combatant Claude had seen before; they each carried an enchanted sword and wore armor. 

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you to disturb Lady Edelgard,” Hubert hissed. 

“ _Hubert_! Cease this madness. Tell her that she must surrender, or… or leave the capital!” Ferdinand stepped forward, almost seeming heedless of the fact that they now fought on opposite sides.

“Running into you like this, here - I have to say, it’s almost sentimental,” Edelgard’s advisor mused. “But no matter. Do you _really_ think I can convince her of anything?” 

“Perhaps not, but you should have _tried_. Or gone behind her back, as you always do!” 

“Enough talk.” 

Hubert launched both his prepared spells, but Ferdinand was faster. The magic deflected harmlessly off the sacred shield he’d claimed from the von Aegir family vault. Claude had been skeptical of the ceremony with which Seteth had presented Ferdinand with the Spear of Assal prior to the battle, but it was certainly powerful; Ferdinand swept it in a sharp arc and cut down the first of the enemy mages without much effort.

“Go! I will hold them here,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Six against one were poor odds, but there was no time to argue. They pushed their way into the throne room itself and kept going. 

Here, they faced more of those hybrid mage-warriors, plus a barrage of long-range magical attacks from foes they could not even see. The lightning bolts and flaming meteors forced them to break any semblance of a formation - which was, of course, Edelgard’s plan. Once they were isolated, she released what was left of her demonic beasts. 

By the time Claude fought his way through to the throne itself, Dimitri was already there - and the only one of them who’d made it through. Whatever last-minute plea he’d made to Edelgard clearly hadn’t worked, either, because they were locked in a duel. Relic crashed against Relic with enough force to shake the ground.

They were too close for a safe shot, but when Edelgard pushed the spear away and drew back to strike, Claude risked it. Luck was on his side - his arrow flew true and pierced her shoulder. Instead of cutting Dimitri down, she cried out and almost dropped her axe. It was enough for Dimitri to recover. He knocked the weapon out of her hands and put Areadbhar’s blade at her neck. 

None of them moved for a long, silent minute. The sounds of combat in the throne room beyond started to die away. Their friends trickled onto the scene, one by one, marveling at the sight of the Emperor on her knees. 

“El…” Dimitri started to lower his weapon, his other hand stretched out to pull her up. 

Claude was watching her face, and shouted a warning when he saw the small smile. Too late. She seized the dagger from her belt and threw it at Dimitri. Though his head and neck were wide open for a more fatal attack, the blade only sunk into his shoulder. Claude knew at once what she was doing, but Dimitri could only act on instinct, thrusting the spear down by reflex. Exactly as she’d planned it. 

Suicide rather than surrender. 

Or it would have been, if Hubert had not Warped into the weapon’s path at the last possible moment.

 _“No_!” Edelgard cried, as the thrust she’d intended for herself was stopped by Hubert’s body. Dimitri dropped the haft with a curse, but it was far too late. Areadbhar had pierced him straight through and come out his back. Anyone could see the wound was fatal. 

“Lady Edelgard…” Hubert managed the words, though blood already trickled from his mouth. 

Behind them, Ferdinand wailed. “Hubert, you _fool_!” 

“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. 

“All my life, I’ve followed your orders,” Hubert said. Even though he was dying, he made a significant effort to speak clearly. “Forgive my impudence. But I have a single order for you. You must live.” 

Whatever Edelgard was going to say, they’d never know. An odd shrieking sound, from somewhere above the palace, grew louder and louder until it filled their ears. With a great effort, Hubert muttered his final spell - 

And suddenly all of them stood back in the streets of Enbarr, Warped away by his magic. Deposited right next to Seteth and the other commanders, who blinked at their sudden appearance.

They were just in time to see the odd object fall from the sky, directly onto the palace.

There was an enormous explosion, fire like they’d never seen before, and suddenly there _was_ no palace. Just a smoking crater in the ground, and rubble raining down around them. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Claude managed, when the ringing in his ears had subsided enough for him to hear himself talk. 

“A present from my ‘uncle,’” Edelgard said, voice tight. Her eyes were wet, but she clearly wasn’t letting herself grieve for Hubert - not in public. “Some strange magic - or invention - or both, known only to them.” 

“They’ve used it before,” Seteth said, with unexpected frankness. “The Valley of Torment was created when they tried to attack Garreg Mach with these… weapons. The goddess’ power shielded us - diverted them to a valley in the north.” 

“If Hubert had not detected it, we’d all be… Oh, Hubert.” Ferdinand, not nearly so restrained in his grief, sank to his knees and wept.

“He did better than that. Once we found out about the weapon, we always anticipated they might use it against us. So, Hubert worked magic that would trace where an attack came from. They’ve underestimated us for the last time,” Edelgard said, wincing as she stood. 

“First things first - where is Lady Rhea? If you kept her in that palace and left her behind to die, I swear to the goddess…” Seteth looked sterner and angrier than he’d ever been, which was saying something.

“And couldn’t there be more where those came from? We need to get _everyone_ out of Enbarr - now,” Dimitri said. “We can sort out the rest later. Please, El.” 

“Very well,” she said, after only a moment of hesitation. She was looking at the crater. Hubert’s body was in there, somewhere, but they’d never recover it now. “I’ll take you to her.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, for most of this fic I was planning to have Edelgard die. She's fighting to accomplish her vision or die trying, and prefers to die once it's impossible, as we see in AM or with her speech to Byleth in other routes. 
> 
> But I've already changed so much just because I can, and it's a waste of an AU to not develop the 3 lords' relationship just a little bit longer. 
> 
> The solution was for Hubert to do what Hubert does and steal the choice from her.


	24. Chapter 24

The conquering army hastily retreated from its prize to avoid any further attacks from Those Who Slither in the Dark’s mysterious weapon. (Someone had coined the phrase ‘javelins of light,’ which Claude knew was incorrect - whatever these things _actually_ were, they simply lacked the vocabulary to describe it). But in the hours that followed, the skies remained open and clear. 

“Perhaps they only have a limited store of the _javelins_ ,” Dimitri mused.

“Or they’re merely taking the time to verify that all three of us are dead before acting again. I don’t like all the unknowns - we need more information,” Claude said. 

“Then I suggest you cease this idle speculation and make Rhea tell you what she’s been hiding from us all,” Edelgard said. An odd position she was in - clearly their prisoner, but walking free. Without her armor and great axe, she looked like a small and helpless girl. Claude knew better - she would never be powerless. 

The issue of what to do with her was particularly thorny. For the moment, there was a more important threat, but they couldn’t put her judgment off for long. Both the Kingdom and Alliance’s nobles would want her head for the unprovoked war. Left alive and imprisoned, she’d always be a threat to Adrestia’s replacement government - as a rallying point for discontented nobles, at best, and plotting a coup herself at worst. 

“I’m getting to that,” Claude said aloud. “Seteth says she’s exhausted and weakened from, you know, being held prisoner in a secret dungeon for five years.” 

The jab failed to produce any hint of shame on Edelgard’s face. “My uncle’s eyes and ears were everywhere. It’s a miracle I located a place he knew nothing about. Sending too many supplies would only have exposed her to them. I did what was necessary to ensure she’s still alive, instead of tortured to death.”

“Right. All for the greater good.” 

“She isn’t _human_ , Claude. I suspect she could have survived a hundred years without food or water.” 

Edelgard had a point - the two Saints he’d encountered had both spoken of putting themselves to sleep for years at a time, and Seteth had once implied that Rhea could be anywhere, sleeping away her wounds. Still, it was just as well that she was awake - they had too many questions. 

“I’ll talk to her - tomorrow. Even non-humans need some rest,” he said firmly.

The former Emperor narrowed her eyes at him. “She’s dangerous, Claude. Keep deferring to their will, and before you know it, the Church will-” 

“This is basic decency, nothing more. The new Fodlan won’t be under the thumb of an all-powerful Archbishop.” 

Dimitri, who’d mostly kept quiet as they argued, nodded. “The people of the Kingdom value their faith in the goddess, but after the fighting between the Western and Central Church five years ago… it may be best for both organizations to give up their standing armies.”

This was the best concession Claude could reasonably wring out of the _Holy_ Kingdom, and Edelgard was smart enough to know that. Still, she frowned. “Your reforms will last for a generation, perhaps two. But then _she_ will worm her way back.” 

“Perhaps Lady Rhea will no longer wish to be the Archbishop. Anyone would grow weary after a thousand years of rule. If we can show her that Fodlan has changed for the better, and no longer needs her guidance…” 

“I can be very convincing,” Claude said, in a significant tone that sailed straight over Dimitri’s head. Edelgard caught it, though, and fixed her intense stare on him. Then she shrugged, not conceding her point, but recognizing she was powerless to enforce it. 

They parted at the edge of the camp, Dimitri accompanying Edelgard on a walk to the marker she’d placed to honor Hubert. Part bodyguard, part prison warden. They’d been inseparable this past day, as if making up for the stolen friendship of their childhood. It couldn’t last much longer, but neither of them talked about that.

Claude passed Felix and Sylvain on his way back, both of them watching their king walking next to the former Emperor.

“I preferred the boar to _this_ ,” Felix muttered. 

“Now you’re just being dramatic. He’s got a point, though,” Sylvain said to Claude. “It won’t take much for her to twist him around her little finger.” 

“I know, I know. After we deal with Arundel, she needs to go away.” 

“Permanently,” Felix said flatly. 

“Nobody wants to say it - except this asshole - but he’s right,” Sylvain agreed. “But hey, I don’t need to tell you that.” 

“No, you don’t... I’m well aware how dangerous she is,” Claude said. 

But what was the solution? Dimitri would naturally object to her execution. He could - and would - be overruled by the combined will of their crucial nobles and generals. But _that_ would set things off on a bad note, when it was more important than ever that their three countries work together. 

There had to be some middle ground between her death and leaving such a dangerous threat alive and active. Hopefully, in between everything else he had to do, Claude could figure out a solution. 

* * *

Once Claude got Rhea talking, she didn’t want to stop. He suspected part of her was relieved to finally tell the truth - the full truth - after a thousand years of isolation. She tore the false history of the ‘King of Liberation’ and his handpicked Elites apart. In reality, it had been another move in the long chess game between her people, the Nabataens, and ‘Those Who Slither in the Dark’ - the remnants of a civilization called Agartha. Nemesis’ massacre left Rhea and Seteth among a handful of survivors, and Flayn so badly injured that she’d been sleeping for the better part of the last millennium. 

Edelgard hadn’t been wrong, in a way. Seiros was a false saint, actually Rhea herself, using what would become the Empire to avenge herself against her people’s murderers. Then, the great lie, that Crests were gifts from the goddess, instead of the result of stolen blood; that the Relics were divine weapons, instead of the bones of her people. Rhea claimed it was to protect the few of them that were left; Edelgard would say it was a fiendish plot to control Fodlan as an immortal pseudo-queen. Claude thought Rhea sounded sincere, but it was possible she was lying, even to herself. 

Then Rhea turned to Byleth, who she’d insisted be there as her personal guard this past day. The Archbishop hesitated for the first time. 

“You should know… the truth of your identity.” 

“What are you talking about?” Byleth asked, eyes narrowed. 

“I wanted to see her… see my mother… even if it meant doing that which is forbidden. I tried to bring her back by creating a body and burying the Crest Stone of Flames within it. Twelve times, I tried… and twelve times, it failed.” 

“Sitri,” Claude breathed. Now all the pieces fell together. The reason Solon had been so intent on her, the reason the Sword of the Creator (the goddess’ bones!) had responded to her. 

Byleth scowled. “She was just a pawn to you?” 

“No! I loved her as my own child, as I had the previous attempts. They may not have carried the conscience of the progenitor god, but they lived full lives in my care.”

Byleth shook her head, but said nothing. 

“Something happened that I did not anticipate. She grew up and fell in love with the captain of the Knights of Seiros, Jeralt. He bore my Crest, as I saved him using my blood many years ago. My other creations could not have children of their own, but that combination… it led to your birth. Without meaning to, I stumbled upon the missing ingredient.” 

“Byleth’s child will manifest the Crest of Flames naturally,” Claude said, remembering the long-ago conversation with Hanneman. “A real child, instead of an artificial creation, was your missing piece to awaken the goddess.” 

Rhea nodded. “I made the arrangements with a suitable Crest-bearing noble family in the Empire. I didn’t realize Arundel had been replaced by the Agarthans’ leader, Thales. We narrowly avoided a disaster - imagine the power of the goddess in _their_ possession!” 

Byleth scowled. “So you’d let me have a child, only for them to never be truly born. Just a vessel for the goddess.” 

“I am sorry. I wanted to see her again so badly…” 

“ _I_ _f_ I ever bear a child, I won’t let you anywhere near them,” Byleth hissed. “Consider this my resignation, Lady Rhea.” 

The Archbishop said nothing, just closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Claude followed his old fencing instructor out of the tent. Once they were alone, he whistled softly. “The last thousand years… I think she was telling the truth, as she sees it. She _was_ only ruling Fodlan so she could keep trying to revive the goddess.” 

“That would mean she’ll step aside now that she realizes Sothis is truly gone. Which would be very convenient for you,” Byleth said, shooting him a familiar glare. 

“Hey - I didn’t arrange this. I mean, I knew there was something _weird_ going on between Rhea and you, but I couldn’t have guessed all that!” 

“I almost believe that.” 

“So… what are you gonna do now?” Claude asked. 

Byleth shrugged. “Fighting is all I know. I won’t be a Knight, but I’ll still make a living by the sword.” 

“A mercenary, huh? Let me give you your first contract. I could use your blade by my side when we confront Arundel.” 

“I’ll help you kill _him_ for free. You can make it up to me with future jobs. Surely you’ve plenty of people in Almyra that need stabbing.” 

“You don’t know half of it. It’s a deal.” 

* * *

Claude found Dimitri and Edelgard after that, and told them everything. Edelgard was predictably skeptical that Rhea spoke the truth. Apparently the Adrestian Emperors had passed a personal account all the way down from Wilhelm the First. Claude distrusted their story as much as Rhea’s; history had a way of becoming distorted, especially over a thousand years. But there was enough overlap that _something_ like it was probably the case.

“Okay - let’s get down to business,” he said, once they’d exhausted the topic of Rhea. “Hubert traced their ‘javelin’ back to its source, and, of course, made it so that you’re the only one who can access his magic. So what do you want?” 

“I won’t beg for my life, if that’s what you’re asking,” Edelgard said, giving him a stern look. “I want to watch them die for what they did to me and my family - every last one of them. Take me with you.” 

Claude winced. Of course that would be her condition. “The army won’t exactly be happy about you fighting next to us.” 

“Then only take those you can trust. They are not numerous. They would not need to sink to such deception otherwise.” 

“The army won’t be happy if we send them all home without making the final call on your fate, either.” 

“Announce that you’ll execute me after the battle. I care not... as long as my uncle goes first.” 

Dimitri frowned. “We’re not doing that!” 

“Then you’re still a fool,” Edelgard said, though her tone was not as harsh as the words. “As long as I live, Fodlan will never know true peace. I won’t insult either of you by pretending I would be a quiet and submissive captive. Even if I were, malcontents in the Empire would always rebel with my name on their lips.” 

“She’s not wrong,” Claude said. It was exactly what he’d been thinking this whole time, in fact. Only her death would avoid such complications. 

“There has to be another way,” Dimitri insisted. “El, if you’re executed, then _they_ win! You think your vengeance will be enough to let you die without regrets, but revenge is empty. And I… I will only see our ‘uncle’ laughing at us from beyond the grave, because even as his strings were cut, he dragged you down with him.” 

She might not realize how literally he meant it, but Claude did. Dimitri had confided that he still heard the voices; he was just better able to ignore them by reminding himself of what was real. 

“There is no other way,” Edelgard said severely. “I knew what it might cost when I started this war, and I won’t show weakness now.” 

“There _might_ be another way,” Claude said slowly. He’d been turning the idea over in his mind the last few minutes. 

The King and Emperor both looked at him quizzically. 

Claude grinned. “Let’s save it for after we take care of Arundel. You’ll fight better if you know I’m holding a scheme up my sleeve.”

“You just want a bigger audience when you reveal how clever you are,” Dimitri said, but he was smiling. 

Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine, we wait. But I’m _not_ agreeing until I know what you’re on about.” 

“Don’t worry. You’ll love this.” 

And more importantly, it would be enough punishment that the nobles would agree to it. They wouldn’t be happy, but they wouldn’t be stirred into open revolt, and that was really the best Claude could do. 

First things first, though. One final battle against the people who’d been pulling the strings of this whole war. Claude was going to enjoy this one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping things up now. 
> 
> Definitely happy I changed my own mind and had Edelgard survive Enbarr, since these interactions between the 3 of them were very fun to write.


	25. Chapter 25

Hubert’s spell, carried on by the lord he’d given his life for, led them north and east. When they crossed into Alliance territory, Claude felt a chill go down his spine. They’d been right under his nose this whole time, and could have wiped him out with casual contempt - just by firing one of those ‘javelins.’ 

Luckily, they’d miscalculated. The war had suited their purposes, and they let it drag on, confident that the three of them would take care of one another and leave the door wide open to them. They’d never even considered that Hubert would outmaneuver them. 

The spell took them to a seemingly unimportant ruin, but a quick search showed a hidden entrance and tunnel, pointed down. Perhaps generations of living underground explained why their enemies were so bleached of color. 

Even Edelgard didn’t know how many foes they’d face - Thales/Arundel had always been careful to avoid giving away too much. The fact that they’d _needed_ her and the Empire under their thumb suggested that they could not be too numerous, though. 

So for maximum stealth and secrecy, this force was limited to their former classmates and a handful of the Knights. Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn insisted on coming, too, to see the destruction of their ancient enemy with their own eyes.

Claude didn’t want to gamble everything on the assumption of victory, though. He dispatched a messenger to Holst, sharing the location and ordering him to lead a force into the tunnel if he didn’t hear from Claude by the next morning. Given the Agarthans’ penchant for stealing faces, Holst was to kill anyone he saw down there, up to and including his own lord… or sister. 

Dimitri winced when Claude showed him the note, but Edelgard only nodded. “Good. If we are killed, he must be prepared.” 

“I wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to murder someone wearing their sister’s face,” the king said, shaking his head. 

“It would be _their_ doing, just the type of cruelty they favor. Are you disgusted? Angry? Good - use it against them,” Edelgard said. 

With that done, they went down into the tunnel. Claude wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The structures above-ground were all ruins, but the type of ruin that wasn’t out of place with the rest of Fodlan. Down here… It was old, very old, but it wasn’t a ruin. The tunnel was lined with some material none of them had even seen before, and ahead, they could see structures, oddly shaped, all made of the same dark metal. 

“This architecture… it doesn’t even exist in Fodlan,” said Ignatz, who would know. 

“I would call it magnificent, but in another sense it is… horrible. Wrong. The very air feels stagnant,” Lorenz muttered. 

As they crossed into the underground city, they were greeted by Arundel’s voice. (But it wasn’t carried by magic - it sounded distorted. Claude looked up and saw the source of it was some object set into the wall. More of them lined the other walls, causing the message to echo strangely). 

“ _Lady_ Rhea. At last, you show yourself. The vengeance we’ve awaited for thousands of years is in our grasp. Your so-called goddess stole our light and condemned us to eternal darkness. Now, we will wipe out the last of her ‘children’!” 

“Guess they know we’re here,” Claude muttered, readying Failnaught. 

In addition to the black-armored Agarthans, they faced enormous metal… dolls? Claude didn’t have the word for it. Dimitri looked unsurprised to see them, though, and confided that Cornelia had unleashed a handful of her ‘titans’ against them at Fhirdiad.

“They attack with magic - spears of light,” he explained. “And they are seemingly immune to _our_ magic - whatever they’re made of simply absorbs it and makes them more powerful!” 

Claude nodded and hastily arranged their defenses. One silver lining - aside from the army of titans, they were outnumbered barely three to one. Whether because of the war thinning their numbers, or because they had been such a small population to begin with, Agartha simply didn’t have much to throw at them. 

And three to one was no contest - not with the Relics on their side.

When the dust settled, Thales himself was not among the dead. Claude ordered a careful advance, deeper into the mysterious city. Every so often, lightning sprang from a trap and speared down into the group, but Lorenz’s Ward spell was holding firm. 

Then they spotted it - a fortified bunker, in the middle of the city. Doubtless he was in there, shielded by an unknown number of spells and traps. 

“Ah… Dimitri,” Thales said, his voice carrying through yet another of those objects. “I’m surprised you’re working with your dear half-sister, considering everything she cost you.” 

It wasn’t clear if the objects worked two ways, but Dimitri snarled at him anyway. “You’ll try to turn us against each other, now? How pitiful - but I suppose you have no cards left to play.”

“So arrogant. You really don’t know anything. How do you think we knew exactly where the king would be, when best to strike? It was her mother - your step-mother. So desperate to see her _real_ child again that she would do anything to make it happen.” 

“Dimitri,” Claude muttered. “Don’t let him goad you.” He didn’t like the look of the magic swirling around the outside of the bunker. 

“Perhaps you’d like to hear your father, from beyond the grave. If you want, we can play back his final pleas for mercy.” Thales laughed, a deeply unpleasant sound. “I took extra care to capture the best bits-” 

It was too much for Dimitri. He shook Claude’s restraining hand away and rushed forward. Claude shouted at him to stop, but to no avail - 

-or so he thought, but Dimitri stopped well short of the flickering miasma around the bunker. Instead, he drew back and hurled Areadbhar like a javelin. His full strength was considerable; the weapon tore through the metal like paper. The scream inside suggested at least one Agarthan had paid the price. 

Marianne’s Silence cut a neat path through the miasma, and the rest of them poured through. Thales muttered the incantation for his earthquake spell, but before he could complete it, Edelgard’s great axe took the head from his shoulders. The handful of remaining Agarthans were cut down just as quickly. 

It was over. 

At least until the entire structure began to rumble and shake. More of the ‘javelins’ - no, _all_ of them - were launching out into the air.

“Oh _no_. He wasn’t just trying to lure us into that magic trap - this whole _place_ was the trap,” Claude realized. “He'd die in order to take us down with him!”

They could run, but it wouldn’t do them any good. The ‘missiles’ were already screaming back down towards them - 

And suddenly, Rhea was gone, replaced by an enormous white dragon. She shouted at them to run, her natural voice suffused with a commanding snarl. Then she launched herself into the air, blocking the first of the ‘javelins’ with her own body. 

They ran. 

* * *

As powerful as her dragon form was, Rhea had been severely hurt by what she’d done. She might not even survive the effort. Claude could see it on Seteth’s face when they finally found her, back in her human form, buried under the wreckage of what had once been the Agarthan city. He and Flayn hastily made their excuses to take her away. 

Claude wondered why she’d done all that to save them, even after Byleth had rejected her. Despair at the end of her project? The hope that her creation’s child would eventually change her mind and restore Sothis to the world? Or - perhaps he’d misjudged her, and she had done it selflessly, simply to protect them from Thales’ revenge. 

Claude had to admit, everything would be much simpler with Rhea out of the way. Of course, she didn’t need to die - simply be diminished and step aside. He’d reach out to Seteth once all of this was over. 

It was time to send the rest of their forces home, too. But their restlessness was palpable. Breaking the army apart without Edelgard’s punishment would mean, to some, that they’d fought all these years for nothing. And it only took a few resentful battalions to create total disaster. 

Luckily, Nader returned from Brigid with the exact reply Claude had been hoping for. He would’ve lied about its contents if he had to, but Petra had come through. 

One final bit of theater. Their whole army was assembled. Claude and Dimitri stood on a boulder to address them. Edelgard was beside them, hands bound loosely with a silk rope. 

“You’ve all fought long and hard to accomplish what we have today: peace for all of Fodlan. Those who have been manipulating us for a thousand years, who pushed all three of our countries into conflict, are dead. I won’t promise you peace for the rest of our lifetimes, but for perhaps the first time in our history, that decision is _truly_ up to us,” Claude said, lifting his voice to be heard clearly. 

Dimitri nodded and spoke in turn. “The Kingdom welcomes peace with the Alliance - _and_ with Adrestia. The war hit us hardest, and it’s well within our rights to demand reparations. But I believe that punishment will only create resentment, while forgiveness can give us a real, lasting peace. The interim Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir, will freely offer his nation’s harvest to help Faerghus through the winter.” 

“Adrestia will decide for itself what comes next - with our supervision, of course,” Claude said. “But the Empire they were _won’t_ rise again. And that means dealing with their last Emperor.” 

Edelgard said nothing, simply lifting her head with regal pride. She might no longer have her horned crown or the armor, but the way she carried herself alone spoke volumes. 

“I have here a message from the new Queen of Brigid,” Claude continued. Even Dimitri and Edelgard blinked at him - whatever they thought he’d been up to, they hadn’t guessed the truth. “She and I have agreed to terms. As long as she lives, Brigid will never attack Fodlan - and more, they’ll provide a harbor for any troops or ships we need to defend against Dagda.” 

Muttering through the crowd of soldiers. They knew what this meant. The last remaining enemies who had once attacked their borders had been countered by this move. It was just barely possible that they’d fought for a _real_ and lasting peace. 

“Edelgard von Hresvelg…” Claude waited until all eyes and ears were on him before announcing it with a flourish. “You are hereby banished from Fodlan, never to return. A ship is waiting to take you to Brigid.” 

“I suppose that was part of your treaty, too?” she said, too quietly for the crowd to hear. They were busy cheering, anyway. 

“Personally, I’d suggest looking at this as the kindness it is. You’re alive; and Petra, Dorothea, and Bernadetta are all waiting for you.” 

Edelgard sniffed. “Perhaps history will look unkindly upon you, Claude von Riegan. They say Dagda’s military is strong enough to bring all of Fodlan to its knees… if properly directed.” 

“Sure, you can try to rekindle that alliance. But if you break this treaty and start another war, I won’t be so merciful next time,” Claude said. His tone was playful, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes.

“Please, El. Give us a chance. The new Fodlan you fought for can be brought about peacefully,” Dimitri said earnestly. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

That was the last they saw of Edelgard - marching off to her exile with all the poise of the Emperor she no longer was. Dimitri was relieved… but only time would tell if Claude had made the right choice. 

* * *

  
The war brought one final round of senseless death. Either because he didn’t hear that Edelgard had been defeated, or due to his own pride, Caspar’s father still refused to surrender. Dukes Fraldarius and Gautier, whose own supply lines were running short and who needed to wrap up the war to return and rebuild the ravaged Kingdom, eventually decided to take Arianrhod by force. 

The fighting was quick, but brutal. The Count fell protecting his men. And among the Empire’s casualties were their old professors - Hanneman and Manuela. 

Dimitri solemnly announced the news to the assembled former students. They’d all been planning to split apart and return to their own homes. Now, they decided to stay for one final night, holding an impromptu wake. 

All of them had lost _someone_ they knew over the last five years. The praise of their two professors gradually turned to the other deaths. Some of the wounds were still fresh - Ferdinand’s eloquent eulogy for Hubert was often interrupted by his own voice breaking. Others had scabbed over long ago; Dimitri was able to talk about his uncle Rufus without losing his composure. 

Caspar only stood up after he’d been fortified by several drinks. “I’m okay. Really, I was ready for it. Giving his own life for his soldiers… that was just how he was, you know?” 

It wasn’t the time to point out how unnecessary that death had been. Claude said nothing, and Linhardt eventually led Caspar away to grieve in private. Over the course of the war, the two of them had become increasingly lax with the ‘friends’ pretense. In an odd way, the death of Caspar’s stern father lifted the last restriction for them. 

As the night wore on, more of them broke into couples or smaller groups of friends. Sylvain and Felix were the first to invent some excuse to leave. Eventually it was just Claude and Dimitri, sitting at the fireside in relative quiet. 

Claude sighed. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been avoiding it, but-” 

“You must leave for Almyra. I know.” 

“You _seriously_ need to stop seeing through me. It’s annoying when I can’t do the dramatic reveals,” Claude chided him, though there was no bite to it. 

Dimitri let out a quiet laugh. “I can’t help it. It was too obvious. From what you’ve said of Almyra, you still have work ahead of you to ensure you’re crowned.” 

“Winning a war this big is a leg up on my half-siblings, no doubt about it. And in the long run, the peace we’ve won will be incredibly valuable to both countries. But Almyrans aren’t always so good at the long run. They expect wars to bring back plunder and prestige. I need to go back - and start showing off.” 

“Of course. I wish you luck.” 

Claude paused. “That’s it? You don’t need… reassurances?” 

“Claude. I know you’ll come back as soon as you can. I trust you,” Dimitri said simply. “It’s not as though I’ll have much time for… us, myself. This will be a hard winter for the Kingdom, and I’ll be very busy with the restoration.” 

“Speaking of, aren’t your people worried about… you know… the heir situation?” 

The king gave a rueful grin. “I fear that Cornelia’s deception was believed so easily because there is more than a grain of truth to it. My uncle left… more than one child.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, by the time I die, I believe that even Faerghus will have moved past the idea that only blood determines one’s worthiness to rule. I intend to create a parliament that represents the commoners’ voice, too.”

“Damn. Shaking up those old fossils _will_ keep you busy,” Claude said. 

Dimitri winced. “Some of the older nobles will not be happy, yes. Sylvain’s father in particular is… resistant to peace with Sreng, let alone the other reforms.”

“I mean, he could always have a terrible accident.”

“Claude!” They both laughed. “Nevertheless, it will be a delicate task, but the heirs to the most important families - my friends - will support me. Speaking of - I hope you don’t intend to go back without anyone watching your back.”

“That was my plan, once. But you’ve been a good influence on me. I’ve already hired Byleth as the captain of my personal mercenaries. And Holst is sending Balthus to watch my back.” 

“I meant _your_ friends. But I suppose that will have to do.” 

Claude grinned. “I know. I was being annoying. In truth, I need most of them to stay in the Alliance. I’ll be stepping down from the leadership of the Roundtable, and none of this will work if the five great families aren’t open to friendship with Almyra. Don’t worry - I’ll be fine.” 

Dimitri nodded. “I’m sure you will be. And I will miss you, but… this must be done. I will be thinking of you. And write, of course.” 

“Sure. But maybe that’s enough talk.” Claude gestured around - it was just the two of them left by the fire now. “There are things our distance will prevent that we should do while we still can…” 

Thankfully, Hilda wasn’t around to interrupt them this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard has big Napoleon vibes so why not give her Napoleon's fate?


	26. Epilogue

It was Lorenz’s idea, of course. The man loved his pomp and ceremony, and the more pompous the better. 

Claude was amused at the progression of the letters from the Alliance. Over the past year, Hilda’s casual proposal of a second attempt at their five year class reunion (“but properly this time!”) turned into a Very Grand and Very Formal get-together at Garreg Mach. The leading figures in the Kingdom and the new Adrestian Republic were all invited. 

_Then_ the new Count Gloucester decided to kill two birds with one stone, and all of the foreign leaders - not just Claude - received invitations. Lorenz’s flowery language promised the event would symbolize the new peace and harmony between their nations. The treaties with Sreng and Duscur had just been finalized the previous year, and of course, now that Claude was on the throne of Almyra, the final one would soon follow. 

Claude traveled by wyvern, with an Almyran guard accompanying him, plus a _very_ grumpy Byleth and Balthus. Neither took particularly well to flying, though only Balthus let out a torrent of swears and complaints; the mercenary captain just clung on in grim silence. 

Garreg Mach was almost unrecognizable - or, more accurately, it was almost back to what it _had_ been during their school days. The Church’s power and influence might have been severely curtailed after Rhea formally stepped down, but Seteth was still determined that the monastery would be the center of worship for all that desired it. He greeted them at the gates, looking, of course, exactly the same as he always had. Claude idly wondered how many years it would take for even one new wrinkle to appear on a Nabatean’s face. 

“Good to see you again!” 

“Welcome back to Garreg Mach, King Khalid.” 

Claude made a face. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Very little,” Seteth agreed, but with the barest hint at a smile. “Archbishop Eisner extends her greetings to you all. She’s also requested a private audience with the captain of your-” 

Byleth rolled her eyes. “Can’t you ever turn the ceremony off? Of course I’ll see my mother. I don’t blame _her_ for any of this.” 

“Hey, hey, are you just gonna run off and leave me unprotected?”

“Balthus is _right there_.” 

“I know what I said.” 

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her voice over Balthus’ profane objections. “You’re safer here than on your throne, _Your Majesty_ , and we both know it.” 

Claude had to admit she had a point there. His path to the coronation had been as complicated as any Almyran’s, and the fact that he’d left his half-siblings alive to lick their wounds afterwards - not unprecedented, but not exactly _recommended_ \- kept Byleth particularly busy. In time, he hoped that his clemency would set an example for future rulers, but as it was…

Seteth took them to the grand ballroom, which _someone_ had decorated to within an inch of its life. The flags of all three nations draped the walls next to the normal Church symbols; plus those of Almyra, Sreng, and a new one that Claude assumed was Duscur’s. 

“Claude!” someone cried, and then Lorenz was there, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “Or should I say, Khalid?” 

“You can call me whatever you want, as long as you remember I still outrank you,” Claude laughed. 

“Of course, of course. _Your Majesty_ -” 

“ _Please_ don’t start that, I was joking.” Claude turned the handshake into a hug, much to Lorenz’s consternation. The noble stepped out of it quickly and cleared his throat. 

“What’s the latest from the Alliance? I assume the old goat is still in charge?” 

Margrave Edmund had been the natural compromise candidate as the new leader of the Roundtable - a position he’d been jockeying for all his life, and finally claimed as his own. The squabbles continued as they always did, with the Riegan vote swapped out for the newly restored Daphnel one. Claude knew that Judith was _overjoyed_ to be dealing with that headache again, because she’d sent just one letter that insulted him roundly for “running off and saddling her with the position.” 

“Yes, but not for long. Age is beginning to take its toll on him.” Lorenz attempted to look solemn, but did a particularly poor job of it.

“And you think you’re up next, huh?” 

“They would never agree to give the leadership to my father, but _I_ am another matter, which is why he stepped down. Furthermore, I have taken… steps… to win Edmund’s support for my bid.” 

Claude smirked. “He can’t stand you, I’d like to see how you… oh _no._ You _didn’t_.” 

“It’s not what you think!” Lorenz spluttered. “Well, the political advantages are undeniable, but I could have accomplished the same ends with any marriage alliance to another House. I swear to you, I truly love Marianne!” 

This latest was loud enough for half the crowd to turn and stare at him, which suited Claude nicely. He laughed again and clapped Lorenz on the shoulder on his way past. Not who he’d expected Marianne to end up with, that was for sure, but apparently it worked, so good for them. 

He found Caspar and Linhardt next. They looked much the same, but Caspar was more wound up and Linhardt looked even sleepier, if such a thing was even possible. 

“What have you two been up to?” 

“Traveling - all over the place!” Caspar said. “Ferdinand wanted us to stay in Adrestia, but politics are _boring_.” 

“And like I told him - the fewer old noble families in positions of power, the better,” Linhardt murmured.

Claude nodded. “Last I heard, he was bound and determined to step down after his second term.” 

“Yes. A vital precedent to set. And he’s refusing to throw his support behind any successor; wants a completely open election. Sounds nice, but if a _commoner_ wins, I can’t imagine the old vestiges of nobility will be happy about it.” 

Caspar yawned as loudly as humanly possible. “That’s his problem. Listen, I want to go to Almyra next. I heard someone say something about national tournaments - that sounds _fun_.” 

“We do like to throw those. Careful, though - they’re serious business. Real weapons, real injuries...” 

“Are you kidding? That sounds _even better_! It’s settled - we’ll go back with you,” Caspar announced.

“You can’t just _decide_ that. He’s a king!” 

“Oh yeah. I forgot, ‘cause he’s still just Claude.”

“That’s not even his real name, you fool,” Linhardt muttered.

Claude chuckled. “It’s fine. You’ll need to borrow another wyvern from Seteth, but I’m happy to take you back with me.” 

He left them to their bickering and kept going, nodding at more old friends and former soldiers from their united army. Of course, there was one person he wanted to see in particular. He’d kept up a regular stream of letters with King Dimitri, and even managed to sneak away twice - but twice in five years wasn’t enough. 

Claude found him in the back of the room, as far away as possible from the center of festivities. That wasn’t stopping a stream of people from approaching him, but he was moving them on as quickly as possible, with help from Ingrid, positioned at his right hand in the way that Dedue had often been.

“Claude! I’d hoped you’d come,” Dimitri said, smiling at the sight of him.

“I had no choice. Imagine how heartbroken Lorenz would’ve been if I spurned his fancy party.” 

“He’s not the only one.” 

King embraced king, ignoring the whispers and pointed looks. Claude decided to give them something to _really_ gossip about, and turned it into a kiss. Dimitri made a startled sound - but didn’t object, or pull away until Ingrid cleared her throat. 

“You haven’t changed much,” Claude said to her once they finally pulled apart.

“No - which is what made her the best possible choice for my Knight-Captain.” 

She ignored both Claude’s jab and Dimitri’s flattery. “There’s a line of people hoping to meet you, _Your Majesty_.” It was obvious the use of the formal title was a punishment for their little display. 

“Only have fun on my own time - I know,” he said, but with a smile. 

“How’s Dedue doing?” Claude asked, in-between petitioners. 

“I don’t think he _ever_ expected to be their chieftain, but the people insisted. I agree with them - no-one is better suited to look out for their interests. And I believe that many people in the Kingdom remember him for fighting for Faerghus. They give him more respect than any other person of Duscur - which works to our advantage for the time being.” 

“Viscount... Kleiman, was it? He can’t be happy that their territory was restored in full.” 

Ingrid snorted. “The Viscount collaborated with the dark ones - I’m sure of it. He’s lucky that he kept his _head_.” 

“We can’t prove that,” Dimitri said. The exchange had the feel of a very familiar argument. “I’m certain that we haven’t identified all the opportunists that took advantage of my father’s death for their own ambitions. The Viscount benefited most directly, but without direct evidence, he is under arrest in his own castle, nothing more.” 

“I’m sure plenty of them feel guilty for what happened now that the truth is out. I’m more surprised that things proceeded so well with Sreng.” 

“Sylvain worked tirelessly to achieve that.” 

“It’s _lucky_ that he became Margrave so quickly,” Claude said. 

“Hey - it’s not nice to talk about someone behind their back,” Sylvain announced. Of course he’d somehow gotten close enough to eavesdrop without any of them noticing. Felix was beside him, looking quite uncomfortable in his ducal finery. 

“I was just hoping you could clear something up. The story we heard in Almyra was that the Wind Caller himself attacked your father while he was touring his border defenses. But surely they’re exaggerating.” 

“I wasn’t there, and the soldiers’ accounts are confused at best. It was _some_ sort of creature - but it might have been just another rogue demonic beast. Plenty of those are wandering around - leftovers from the war, you know.” Sylvain put on his best innocent expression, but fooled none of them. 

“I hear the people of Sreng have a lot of respect for old Macuil, and a lot of them took the attack as a direct sign of his favor to you.” 

“Do they? Lucky me. I guess that explains why they agreed to start the peace talks so quickly.”

“ _And_ Macuil hates the descendents of the Elites - he told us so himself.” Claude narrowed his eyes, the picture fully formed in his mind by that point. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” Sylvain said, though his grin said the opposite. “Sure, I’m the last Gautier now, and I’m never gonna have a kid, ending one of the Elites’ bloodlines... wait, are you accusing me of making a deal with the Wind Caller? Claude, you wound me.”

Felix rolled his eyes in turn. “Stop dancing around the truth - it makes me sick. He promised to end _two_ bloodlines. The idiot didn’t even mention _my uncle_.” 

“Look, what Macuil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He just went back to sleep afterwards, anyway!” 

Dimitri winced. “I _don’t_ want to hear this.”

Sylvain shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You don’t get your new world without breaking a few eggs, Dimitri.” 

“I suppose not,” the king sighed. 

“Besides, we’ll need every soldier we can spare from our border defenses - once Edelgard invades Fodlan,” Felix said. 

“Now you’re just being difficult,” Ingrid snapped. “There hasn’t even been a _hint_ of trouble from Brigid.” 

“Yeah, it’s quiet. _Too_ quiet. I’m telling you, this is gonna come back to bite us,” Sylvain said. “I’m glad the cure worked on Lystheia, but did we _have_ to send it to Edelgard, too?” 

“You two just always assume the worst of everyone.”

“ _Someone_ has to.” 

Dimitri caught Claude’s eye as the childhood friends bickered on - seemingly for the sake of it. He tilted his head towards the back door of the ballroom. Claude needed no further encouragement, and they slipped away before Ingrid had a chance to notice. 

“It really is good to see you again. Now that you’re king…” 

“I can’t be away for months at a time - but more often, yes. These peace talks with Fodlan won’t conduct themselves. We can haggle about the exact border line and trade agreements for _years_ on end, trust me.” 

Dimitri grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Let’s go back to the goddess tower,” Claude suggested. Night had fallen, and the view from the top of the rebuilt tower promised to be spectacular. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

It took Ingrid hours to find them - hours they made the best possible use of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can have back to back updates, as a treat. 
> 
> And that's it for this one! A half-baked idea I had for 'AU where Claude is the protagonist' turned out to be my longest and most viewed fic on AO3. Thanks for everyone who stuck with 50,000+ words of this, especially if you commented :) 
> 
> Once again shouting out TK who beta read the entire thing and made several of the plot suggestions (and many of the funnier lines). [She is currently putting Sylvain and Felix through an AU hell of their own.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759542/chapters/57067312)


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